Push
by unilocular
Summary: In a world where mutants aren't allowed to be federal agents, Tony managed to keep his secret. Until now. After he uses his powers to protect a teammate, an internal investigation threatens to destroy his career and possibly, his life. Can the team protect him? Or will he be sacrificed to preserve NCIS' reputation? Already complete, 1 chapter/day.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer : If you recognize it, I still don't own it. All characters remain intellectual property of CBS and their creators.**

 **Title :** Push

 **Summary :** In a world where mutants aren't allowed to be federal agents, Tony managed to keep his secret. Until now. After he uses his powers to protect a teammate, an internal investigation threatens to destroy his career and possibly, his life. Can the team protect him? Or will he be sacrificed to preserve NCIS' reputation?

 **Rating: Strong T**

 **Author's Note :** _This is already completed. It was written for the Reverse Bang on LJ. I'll be posting the whole thing over on AO3 tomorrow with several pieces of beautiful art by the super talented water_soter. I'll be posting it here with 1 chapter per day. 9 chapters total._ _  
_

 _As always with the Reverse Bang, I have to give a shout-out to water_soter for her wonderful art. Without the amazing piece, I never would have come up with this crazy idea and let a whole story grow out of it. Thank you for your wonderful art and all the time you took to make so many more pieces for my story. I was truly blown away. And as always, thanks to solariana on LJ for continuing to run all the challenges._

 _For the story, it's a little different than my normal stories. It's an AU with mutant powers. Think like X-men with early seasons team (including Kate and some unrequited McAbby). Hope you enjoy. Feedback is always appreciated._

 _ _-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-__

The moon hangs low and full, its reflection dancing off the water of the nearby lake. Ripples of intense light make Tony DiNozzo question whether its day, not the dead of night. It gleams against Tim McGee's trench coat as he marches down the sandy beach, the cuffs on his wrists behind his back, and the guns of the three dirtbags spurring them forward in the darkness.

Water laps around Tony's shoes, his steps _squick squick_ ing in the wet sand. Moving with his hands cuffed is difficult at best, treacherous at worst. Up ahead, Tim stumbles over a piece of driftwood. Tony is by his side instantly, helping him stay upright. Tim's wide eyes skirt from Tony to the lake house back in the distance. There, lights in the windows stretch clear from basement to roof. It beckons like it could be their salvation, but Tony already knows it doesn't hold safe harbor.

In fact, that is where the whole mess started. Tony decided an impromptu undercover stint during their current case—a missing petty officer and a shipment of high-grade heroin—would end their stakeout early. It was supposed to be easy. Tony would pretend to be a stranded motorist with a dead cell phone. He was going to borrow the lake house's phone to call a ride—Tim, obviously. And while he waited, he would case the place and find the heroin. Hell, he figured he might just turn up that petty officer too. And it might've gone smoothly if that dirtbag who looked like Charlie Chaplin—complete with mustache and tussled hair from _Modern Times—_ hadn't gone for a smoke and found Tim a half-mile up the road. After he dragged Tim to the house at gunpoint, it didn't take them long to figure out Tony was a fed too.

Tim's gaze flicks back to Tony. Based on the look on his face, the next question will be…

"What do we do, Tony?" he whispers.

"I'm working on it," Tony hisses.

Tim just stares at him like he expected Tony to have a plan by now. Like he expected Tony to have them loose, their suspects arrested, and already contacted Gibbs. All with his hands cuffed behind his back.

Charlie Chaplin barrels into Tony. "Keep moving."

"You know," Tony starts rambling, "you really are doing this wrong. You aren't supposed to break out the cuffs until _after_ we've had our romantic stroll on the beach. Though, this might not be my friend over there's idea of romance."

Charlie just glares at him.

Tony waggles his eyebrows. "That would probably explain why you don't get lucky."

One of the back-up dirtbags chuckles. Charlie's hard shove sends Tony staggering into Tim and they both nearly faceplant right there. That's enough to get them moving again. As they edge around the lake, the moonlight seems to highlight their destination: a small forest with trees reaching with branches like skeletal fingers. The blackness and the stillness turn Tony's body leaden.

 _They're going to ditch us there._

Closing his eyes, Tony struggles to come up with a plan. Preferably something that doesn't end with a shallow grave. He wiggles his hands around and then, he feels something bubble up inside him. It's instinctive and familiar, something that took a lifetime to unlearn. There's a little click, a twist somewhere deep in lock of the handcuffs. It feels like he is picking a lock except without the bobby pin. He can't concentrate while walking. His abilities just never worked like that.

 _I would be better off with a bobby pin than my own brain right now._

Stopping in his tracks, he forces his brain to focus on picking the lock. The abilities his father spent years beating out of him rise. He fiddles with a tumbler, his mind whirring at a million miles an hour.

Charlie pushes him again. "I said, _move_!"

Tony stumbles a few steps before he regains his footing. When he glares back, Charlie wears the grin of a hungry shark. The affable, bumbling silent film star has been replaced by a menacing Bond villain. The other two dirt bags laugh and waggle their guns at the agents. Like the whole thing is one big, fucking joke. Tim groans like they're about to get dead right here, but Tony holds his ground. He wiggles his right index finger as he moves through the cuff lock with his mind.

Lift that tumbler. Roll up the next pin.

 _So close._

Another. And another.

 _Almost got it._

He feels the next to last pin tremble.

 _Almost._

"Move!'" Charlie yells.

As if he can't watch, Tim turns back to the forest. Tony mentally hooks his finger around the last pin. He faces Charlie. He just need to buy them more time.

"Did anybody ever tell you that you look like Charlie Chaplin?" Tony blurts out.

Charlie's eye roll is so dramatic that his eyes glow white in the moonlight. The other dirtbags howl with laughter. Tony plasters his best annoying grin while he keeps working the lock.

"I told you." One dirtbag elbows the other. "I told you that he looked familiar, but I just couldn't place him. Do ya see it now?"

Charlie waves his gun at them. "Shut up, assholes."

But Tony is on a roll. "I don't know about you two, but I think it's the mustache. It's got a real _City Lights_ vibe to it. You know, maybe if you thought about shaving it – "

The punch to the jaw sends Tony stumbling. Black, wispy stars burst in his vision. He fights to stay standing at the same moment his mind releases the lock. It clicks back into place. The closest thing he had to a plan evaporates, but he won't let it go. He starts on the lock again.

He can feel Tim's eyes boring into his back, but Tony can't—won't—look at him. Instead, he closes his eyes, presses his lips tightly together. He knows he could pick these cuffs. Maybe. Probably. Yeah, if he had complete silence and a couple cups of coffee and all the time in the world.

Time is the one thing he and Tim are rapidly running out of.

Charlie shoves Tony forward. He staggers again before moving slower this time. Baby steps while his mind whirls back through the cuff lock. If he can pick it before they make it to the forest, he and Tim might just get out of here alive.

They walk across the wet sand, the dark forest drawing closer. Mere yards now, a breath compared to the distance they already covered. Tony is stuck on the next to last pin, trying to feel his way around it. Why the hell won't it budge?

Tony freezes in his tracks. He flicks his finger wildly, trying to get a grasp on that last pin. Anything, he'll do anything to get it loose. Tim pauses too, probably thinking Tony is about to make a last stand. He wheels around to face the dirtbags while Tony keeps his eyes locked on the forest ahead.

 _I can get it. I know I can._

Perspiration works its way down the back of his neck. It leaves him shivering in the night air. His strident breaths curl towards the sky in long, white puffs.

 _For fuck's sake, come on._

"Move!" Charlie yells.

And that's the moment, Tim chooses to grow a pair. He squares his shoulders. Sets his jaw defiantly. Tony's stomach falls to his knees because Tim is going to get himself killed. He only needs a few more seconds, maybe a minute or two to get the cuffs loose.

"No," Tim says, fear thinly veiled in his voice.

Charlie cocks his gun. "What did you say, kid?"

He stands up a little straighter. "We aren't going anywhere."

Tony holds the lock in place long enough to throw Tim a _Don't piss 'em off, McGee_ look. But it's already too late because Charlie stalks towards him. To his credit, Tim doesn't back down, doesn't flinch, doesn't even blink. Charlie cracks his gun against Tim's head. Tim falls against the sand with a soft _thud,_ groaning and rolling to his side. Charlie looms over him, gun ready.

"Hey! Leave him alone!" Tony yells.

Charlie glances over at Tony, smirking. Their eyes meet and in that instant, Tony knows he is about to pull the trigger. Something in Tony's gut drops like an anchor. The world around him moves in a slow, staccatoed rhythm like a low budget slasher movie. He draws a deep breath before the surge of energy rolls over him. He hasn't felt this way since he was a child.

He feels the weight of a gun in his hand. He pictures himself pointing one at all three dirtbags.

Then, one by one the dirtbags gasp loudly. They give a start as their weapons are wrested from their hands to float in front of them as if by magic. One of them even raises his hands.

"What the fuck is going on?" one yelps.

"I don't know," the other blurts out.

"It's him!" Charlie points an accusing finger at Tim. "He's a fucking mutant! Kill him!"

When Charlie lunges at Tim, Tony curls his right index finger around an unseen trigger. Three gunshots ring out in the night air. Three bodies land in the wet sand with hollow _smacks_. Tony takes a breath, gasping at what he has done. He chases away the thought of himself holding a gun and three guns _plop_ to the ground. He works through the lock on his cuffs quickly, easily now. Then, he does the same for Tim's cuffs. When he is finished, a raging migraine explodes behind Tony's right eye.

He topples to his knees with his head in his hands. He presses the heels of his hands against his eyes as though he could shove his brain out of his own skull. After a few moments of dead silence, Tony manages to pull his fingers away. Somehow, the moon has swollen even larger than before. The light is almost too much for Tony to bear. Tim is standing, arms hugged to his chest. His eyes are as big as the moon, his mouth pulled into a tiny _o._ Tony often forgets how young he really is.

"Are you okay, McGee?" he manages.

Tim licked his lips. "What just happened, Tony?"

Tony swallows hard. "I don't know."

When Tony glances over, the younger man stares at him with glassy and unfocused eyes. Bits of blood, black in the moonlight, are matted against the side of his head.

"Those guys are dead," Tim whispers. "How are they dead?"

Tony tries to play it off. "I don't know, but it's a good thing they are. They were about to do the same thing to us. How's your head, McGee?"

"How did they die?" Tim blinks slowly. "I watched their guns shoot them, but how? No one was holding them. Guns shouldn't be able to do that. They don't do that."

Tim's brain seems to be trying to process what he witnessed. His eyes never leave Tony's. It makes the older man's skin crawl.

 _Maybe I can convince McGee that he is hallucinating._

Tim just stares as though he _knows_ Tony is responsible for what just happened.

Tony starts, "McGee, are you – "

The fearful look on Tim's face shuts Tony up.

"What are you?" Tim whispers.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer : If you recognize it, I still don't own it. All characters remain intellectual property of CBS and their creators**

 **Author's Note :** _Thank you to everyone who read, favorited and followed so far. I'm glad to hear you guys are enjoying the story thus far. It is posted over on AO3. So if you can't to read it in its entirety, it is already over there. There is also a ton of art.  
_

 _Enjoy._

 _ _-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-__

Mid-morning the next day, Tony quietly arrives at NCIS. He plans it out just right: showing up sometime during Gibbs' third coffee and second trek to Abby's lab. Even though he knows he should, Tony isn't ready to face his boss quite yet. At the scene last night, they didn't speak a word to each other. Gibbs just jerked his head at Tony and the senior agent was up all night trying to figure out what the hell that meant. It could've been anything from _Get some sleep, DiNozzo_ to _Good job outing yourself, I might not be able to fix it_ and every variation in between.

And that didn't particularly help get Tony back in working order. The migraine continues to ravage his brain like an untamed wildfire. At the elevator's ding on the fourth floor, he gently massages his temples. Releases a tired, _ah._ Taking a steadying breath, he hoists his backpack higher and heads into the bullpen. He keeps his Aviator sunglasses on to help ward off the bright, fluorescent lights.

Tony heads to his desk on auto-pilot. He drops his backpack to the ground, then slips his gun and cred into the top drawer. When he plops into his chair, he notices someone staring at him.

Kate Todd sits at her desk. Her concerned eyes watch him cautiously. He nods as though to say he's fine, that everything is fine. She half-smiles right before she digs in.

"What's with the glasses, Tony?" she asks, tilting her head.

"I figured if Tom Cruise could rock them in _Top Gun,_ I can too." He smiles cheekily, but it makes him wince. "Maybe I should get people to call me Maverick."

Kate rolls her eyes. "There's a lot of things I could call you, Tony. And Maverick sure isn't one of them."

He raises his eyebrows lasciviously. "So you spend time thinking about what you'd like to call me. Hm, maybe I'd like to hear a couple of them."

Kate starts counting on her fingers. "Creep. Skirt chaser. Womanzier." She lifts her chin, studying him. "Should I keep going?"

Without a good comeback on his mind, Tony lets their conversation slip into silence. He fires up his computer. The normalcy in their banter takes the edge off the migraine. It helps remind Tony that his life hasn't changed, that he is still human.

 _As human as society considers me anyway._

Tony filters through his most recent e-mails. Abby's middle of the night musings about their missing petty officer, Ducky's psychological reports about why a petty officer would steal four kilos of heroin, and some summons for court dates from JAG. One that catches Tony's eye is a letter sent to the whole agency from the conspiracy nut in the armory. _Mutants are starting to infiltrate our agency. Meeting at lunch on Thursday to discuss._ With his heart in his throat, Tony deletes that one.

Kate's voice pulls Tony out of his thoughts. "Did you hear anything I just said, DiNozzo?"

"Yeah, definitely," he says. "That's great."

"Since when is Internal Affairs coming a good thing?"

Tony's head snaps up. "IA is coming? Here?"

Kate nods carefully. "Yeah, you know that anything several dead civilians automatically triggers an investigation." She shrugs like it isn't important. _At all._ "It'll blow over."

And that's when Tony starts casing the exits. He rechecks his go-bag for a quick escape. MSM magazines, back-up suits, and candy bar stash in there, creds and gun in his desk to be ready at a moment's notice.

The quiet is enough to draw Kate over. "Did something else happen last night?"

Tony doesn't know what to say.

"It _will_ blow over, right?" she asks.

"Of course," Tony says more for her benefit than his.

Nodding, she glances back to the elevators. "You know, McGee wouldn't tell me what happened either. All I know is we've got three bodies to process and Abby is already climbing the walls."

"That's what happens when she skips her morning Caf-Pow."

Kate shifts her weight. "When I went to see her, she was already on number four."

Tony winces. "Has Gibbs been here?"

"Yeah, he left a little while ago. After he told me to stay put."

"And you haven't left?"

"If you promise not to rat me out, I went to the lobby for coffee. Then, I went to get groceries and home for a nice, long bath." When Tony doesn't take the bait, she purses her lips. "I haven't even gone to the bathroom because Gibbs will kill me if he finds out."

Tony just nods. "He _will_ know."

"It's almost like he can read our minds sometimes. Especially…" She lets her voice trail off.

Even though she doesn't finish the thought, she is talking about that Israeli superspy—the one hell-bent on a revenge mission against Gibbs—tried to gun the team down a few months ago. They were on a rooftop when Kate caught the sniper's bullet to the chest. Just as she stood, Gibbs dragged her straight back down to the rooftop again. A second bullet ripped a nice hole in the AC unit behind them. In some alternate universe, Tony is pretty sure that bullet ended her life.

"Yeah," he says in agreement.

She unconsciously rubs the middle of her forehead like she does whenever they discuss that moment. Her body goes rigid at the thought.

Before she retreats to her desk, someone heads into the bullpen. At the sight of Tony, Tim stops dead. Dark circles hang under his eyes, his skin turned ashen overnight. He must've tried to hide the hide the dark black bruise on the left side of his head because his hair is styled different. However, he missed the one on his right cheek. He fumbles with his tie mumbling something before he is on the move.

"McGee!" Kate calls after him.

He doesn't turn back. "I need some air!"

Then, Tim bolts for the elevator. Without a second thought, Tony abandons his go-bag to follow Tim. He darts through the cubicles, but somehow, Tim is faster than Tony thought.

"DiNozzo! McGee! Where are you going?" Kate yells.

"I don't know!" Tony shoots back.

"I'm telling Gibbs you left!"

Tony can't even decide whether that matters right now because he _has_ to talk to Tim. He must look the younger man in the eye and tell him—despite what the media and public opinion say about mutants—he is still human. He is still Tony.

By the time Tony reaches the elevator, Tim is pounding on the _Door Close_ button. Tony doesn't bother with sticking his hand in the doors because they don't stop anymore. Instead, they will just will smash your fingers. Instead, he rabbits for the stairs. Over his shoulder, he notices Kate watching with her hands on her hips and angry eyes.

"Gibbs is going to kill you!" Kate yells. "Both of you!"

And that's a risk Tony decides he is willing to take. As he sprints down the stairs, he clears his mind and tries to focus his attention on slowing the elevator down. He doesn't know whether it will work. He never tried it before. He never even practiced it before. But if he doesn't get to Tim before IA, G-d only knows what could happen.

Somehow, it works—or Tony is just quicker than he thinks. He beats Tim to the lobby. As soon as the doors open, Tim bolts out of the elevator. Head down, he strides briskly towards the exit.

Tony heads after him. "Hey McGee."

Tim doesn't look back.

"I need to talk to you, Tim!" Tony shouts.

When Tim still doesn't acknowledge him, Tony bolts after him. He catches up, grabbing the younger man's arm. Tim sucks in a breath, his entire body turns to stone under Tony's touch. He recognizes that emotion from people who learn what he truly is: raw fear.

"We need to talk," Tony says quietly.

Tim nods like Tony is holding a gun to his head. Tony guides him to a little nook by the guard station where they'll have some privacy. Tim looks anywhere, everywhere except at Tony.

"Come on, McGee." Dropping Tim's arm, Tony straightens his suit. "I'm still me."

Tim stares at him for a long time. "Are you really Tony?"

Tony is taken aback. "Who else would I be, Probie?"

At the nickname, Tim seems to settle slightly. He scrubs his hands over his face. Runs his hand through his hair. Looks back at the elevator as though he is planning his escape route.

"I thought a shapeshifter took your place," Tim finally replies.

Tony snorts. "You know, shapeshifting mutants are just stories. They don't really exist. They're kinda like mutant boogeyman."

Tim's face pales considerably. "And you'd know because you're one of them."

Tony turns deadly serious. When he leans in, he hisses, "A shapeshifter, no. A mutant, yes."

Tim flicks his lower lip between his teeth as he seems to consider his next step. Whether he should run to the security guards, screaming and pointing, or stay to hear Tony out. If only he knew the consequences Tony would suffer for being a mutant in a federal agency. Well, Tony wonders whether that would change his mind.

Tony grabs his arm. "I wouldn't tell you unless I trust you, Tim."

Tim half-nods. "Did you mean what you said last night?"

Tony tilts his head questioningly.

"When you called me a friend," Tim says.

Tony's brow furrows as he steps back. "Yeah, we're friends. I mean, as close as you and I could ever be."

"You mean as close a nerd and jock could be," Tim grouses.

"No, I mean as close as two people with completely different lives could be. I know jack shit about computer games and your taste in movies is like, what? _2001?"_

Tim shakes his head. "I don't remember what movies came out that year, Tony."

Tony wrinkles his nose, but Tim misses the point. _"_ I bet you liked the remake of _Planet of the Apes_. _"_

"Actually, both versions are on my _To Watch_ list," he says.

Tony grasps at straws. _"Star Trek?"_

"That was were several great television sseasions before they made some lame movies." Tim tries his switch gears. "Well, you had to have heard of _Fall Out?"_

Tony shakes his head.

 _"Everquest?"_

Tony raises his eyebrows, presses his lips together.

"Anything from _The Legend of Zelda_ series?" When Tony shakes his head again, Tim's mouth gapes. "Not even _Ocarina of Time?"_

Tony holds his hands out as though to say _See what I mean?_ That earns him a half-hearted smile. Tim visibly relaxes and stuffs his hands in his pockets.

"You said you wanted to talk," Tim says. "Then, let's talk."

Tony nods. "IA is coming to interview us. And I just – "

"Wanted to see what my story was going to be," Tim interrupts.

Tony glances around. "Maybe we should talk about this somewhere more private."

After giving it some thought, Tim reluctantly agrees. They head outside into the beginning of the lunch rush. The sun hangs overhead, shining merrily despite the near freezing temperatures. Even though no bothers them—even though he looks just like everyone else—Tony feels as though all eyes are on him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer : If you recognize it, I still don't own it. All characters remain intellectual property of CBS and their creators**

 _ _-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-__

Leroy Jethro Gibbs waits patiently in forensics lab while Abby Scuito nervously flits from one machine to another like an over caffeinated butterfly. He has an extra Large Caf-Pow in one hand and a patient expression painted on his face. He forces himself to tune out the drone of chainsaws and death screams in the pounding music. After what his agents went through, it doesn't help with his mood. But if it helps Abby think, he would let her listen to _anything_.

She darts to the opposite side of the lab bench, pausing just long enough to glance through a microscope. Then, she darts to the mass spectrometer. She is nothing more than a blur of black pigtails, lab coat, and skull-patterned mini-skirt jumpsuit _thing._ She makes a point not to look at Gibbs.

"You aren't supposed to be here," she announces for the umpteenth time.

He nods. "I know."

"And you know I can't talk about Tony and McGee's case," she murmurs as she makes her way back to the lab bench. Picking up a pipet, she transfers a blue liquid between vials.

"I know."

"I'm only allowed to discuss things with Agent Barrows and his team."

He half-smiles. "I know."

Abby moves the liquid to three different vials. Then, she scrunches her nice like it wasn't what she expected. She scratches a careful notation in her report.

"But you aren't going anywhere, right?" she blurts out.

"Do you have to ask, Abs?" Gibbs replies.

With a comforted smile, Abby falls back into her work. And it's not like Gibbs has anywhere else to be right now. Well, he technically should be in the bullpen to separate Tim and Tony until the investigating IA officer arrives. Because if he knows Tony, the first thing he'll do is ask Tim to talk. Make sense of things. Get their stories straight. Figure out something that wouldn't end with his Senior Field Agent thrown in jail for being a mutant and impersonating a federal officer.

 _He warned me this could happen._

When Gibbs met Tony in Baltimore, the younger man came clean about being telekinetic. He confided in Gibbs that he never learned how to control his abilities, just bury them enough to appear human. Being a mutant himself, Gibbs recognized Tony's potential. After he joined the team, Gibbs always stayed open step ahead to prevent Tony from using his abilities. But he always knew there would be a time when Tony would use his abilities and accidently out himself. They came close when Kate nearly died.

 _Then, someone tried to kill McGee._

Abby moves more of that blue liquid around. She clucks her tongue. Makes a disapproving face. She holds the tray of vials up to the light as though it could make them change color. All of them are a transparent, sky-blue. She frowns before rolling her red lips into a grimace.

"I don't get it," she mutters to herself. Then, she raises her voice: "It doesn't make any sense. It is supposed to make sense. Why won't it make sense, Gibbs?"

He just stares at her.

"This is science I'm talking about, Gibbs. Not the case." Her uncertain eyes meet his. "Things, crimes, dead people, whatever happens at a scene. Bad people leave clues. They _always_ leave clues. It doesn't matter how smart they are. Or how smart they think they are. They always leave behind a trace of something, a hint, _something_. And it's my job to find these clues and put them together so you–" she gestures at Gibbs "—can go catch the dirt bag."

"I know," he says.

"But every crime scene has made sense." When she bites her lip, his chest tightens. "Until this one."

Gibbs raises his eyebrows. "I thought you weren't supposed to talk to me."

Abby opens her mouth for a moment before she snaps it closed. Wringing her hands, she slips around her lab bench. Her expression is pained, her eyes wary. When he offers her the Caf-Pow, she whines about how she doesn't deserve it. Then, she thinks better of it and pulls a dreg through the straw. She lets out a loud _Ah!_ when the caffeine hits her blood stream.

"That's the thing," she continues. "I'm not talking to you. I'm working through my problems with…Bert." She hooks her thumb at the stuffed hippo on the shelf next to a bottle with a skull. "Yeah, Bert. It's how I figure out things when I'm stuck. We talk it out and then, inspiration hits me –" she raps the side of her head "- like a bolt of lightning. You should try it, Gibbs. Talking, I mean. It might…"

He stares at her.

"….help. Um, yeah." She looks away. "Or not."

At that moment, Abby holds up her right index finger and moves back to her computer. On the screen, there are several pictures of the scene. He barely got more than a glance last night because Barrows' team was assigned to clear it. Three dead bodies with their handguns lying on blood-stained sand. The tide from the lake laps at the victim's bodies.

"Okay, Bert," Abby starts. "Meet Paul Miller, 28. Lance Armistance, 33. Jeremy Jackson, 23. While these three weren't criminal masterminds, they were well-versed in all levels of – "

Gibbs clears his throat.

"Good point, Bert. I should get straight to the hinky part in case you have something more important to do." She displays three photos of handguns, all laid by a corpse's side as if thrown there. "Each man was killed by his own weapon. Mass suicide, you might say, but you would be wrong." She holds her index finger up as she flips through more photos. "Maybe they just got mad and killed each other. But you'd be wrong again, Bert. I tested the swabs of their hands from Ducky. Negative for gunshot residue. Not even a little, teeny weeny bit of gunshot residue. None of them fired a gun for days."

That familiar pit forms in Gibbs' stomach. It feels a lot like the day Kate almost died.

With her back to Gibbs, Abby is busy having an animated discussion with Bert. "You would be right to think Tony and McGee fought back, Bert. They can handle themselves." She holds her hands to her chest in a pretend swoon. "And since Barrows hasn't taken their statements yet, you might think we have no idea what happened." She pauses. "Okay, you might be right there, Bert. We don't know exactly what happened. But I can tell you they didn't kill these guys either."

When she darts around the bench for her blue vials, Gibbs follows.

"There wasn't any gunshot residue on their hands either," she says. "So we've got dead three guys, but who shot them? Because no one there did. _Obviously_."

"Maybe one of them was wearing gloves?" Gibbs throws out.

Abby turns to him, stricken. "If one of them wore gloves, where did they go? Tony or McGee wouldn't remove them because that's tampering with evidence." Her frown deepens. "They would never do that. You taught them better."

Gibbs straightens his back. "Fourth man?"

"Maybe." She shrugs with one shoulder. "But the only footprints on the beach belong to those three, Tony, and McGee."

"Unless his footprints washed away with the tide." Gibbs gestures at the photos. "Look how far the water came in."

Her face brightens as though she can cling to her last bit of hope. Even though Gibbs knows he is giving her a fake lead, it'll buy him some time to bury what the truth. He should feel guilty, but he doesn't.

She beams at her hippo. "I'm glad we talked things out, Bert. You always have such great ideas."

Gibbs kisses her cheek. "Call me as soon as you find anything else, Abs."

"You know I can't talk to you, Gibbs."

He chuckles. "I know."

 _-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

Tony and Tim end up at a quaint, little diner around the corner from NCIS. The sprawling booths with cherry red, vinyl seats and white linoleum tabletops have the charm of the 1950s. A chrome jukebox by the window pumps out The Bangles' _Walk Like An Egyptian_. A heavyset waitress with a nasty limp leads them to a booth near the back. Even though Tony and Tim face each other, they look everywhere else.

The walls are coated with faded posters advertising the specials—hamburgers, Reuben sandwiches and the "Hungry Man Breakfast"—pictures of local sports teams and framed old newspaper clippings. He makes a mental note to read the one from a few years back about how the Loch Ness Monster cruised the Anacostia for months.

The one thing to catch Tony's attention is a large sign by the cash register. It says _No Shirts, No Shoes, No Service_ with a handwritten addition on printer paper: _No Mutants_. There is a crude drawing of a humanoid frog with a blazing red X through it.

 _If only they knew we look like everyone else._

Tony and Tim sit in silence until a waitress comes to take their order. Since he hasn't even looked at the menu, Tony orders the Hungry Man Breakfast with extra bacon. Tim asks for coffee. Just coffee. Like he doesn't plan to stick around. When Tony clears his throat, Tim quickly orders scrambled eggs and wheat toast. The waitress sweeps away their menus, quickly returning to drop off their drinks. Without even tasting his coffee, Tim dumps a bunch of sugar into it.

Tony slowly sips his coffee. Its bitter and acrid, almost undrinkable. Why Gibbs travels past a half-dozen Starbucks and doughnut places to get his coffee here is something Tony will never understand. He takes another sip, wishing he had Gibbs' knack for knowing exactly what people seem to be thinking. While it would be helpful for interrogating suspects, it would be positively life-saving right now.

Tony starts, "McGee…"

When Tim's eyes meet his, Tony makes a face.

"Look, Tim, about what happened."

And suddenly, Tony's gift of gab eludes him. He doesn't know what to say right now because every single word died up on his tongue. What is he supposed to say to Tim? That yeah, he's a mutant and part of a group banned from working in federal agencies. But it's okay because well, he is Tony DiNozzo after all. And what is going to say when Tim asks about last night? Will he really believe those guys shot themselves in the head? Even with the head injury, that is a stretch.

 _Maybe this wasn't such a good idea._

Tim runs his tongue along the inside of his cheek before glancing out the window. He stares blankly at a pair of joggers on the sidewalk.

"Tony, it isn't about what you are."

The phrase— _what you are—_ makes Tony flinch. Tim might as well have shot him. And in some ways, a bullet might be kinder. Thankfully, Tim recognizes his mistake. He flushes fiercely. Putting his hands up, he turns his attention to Tony. His mouth is moving a million miles an hour before the words pour out.

"I'm sorry, Tony. I didn't mean that. Look, you know that wasn't what I meant. It's just that I don't know what I'm supposed to say right now." He puffs his cheeks out when he exhales. "I don't care _who_ are you are. The thing bothering me is that you didn't tell me about your abilities. You expect me to put my life in your hands whenever we go out into the field. And I do because I trust you." He fiddles with his napkin. "But you didn't trust me. How do you expect me to feel?"

"To be fair, I didn't really tell anyone," Tony says quietly.

"Does Kate know?"

Tony shakes his head.

"What about Gibbs?"

When Tony stares out at the street, Tim gets his answer. Leaning back in the seat, Tim straightens his jacket. Tony tucks into his coffee.

"I feel like you should have told me," Tim says. "I could've been walking into a potentially deadly situation with a ticking time bomb."

Tony's eyes widen. "It's not like that."

"What about that bank robber who turned into a human torch last week?"

Tony pinches the bridge of his nose. "That's a bad example, McGee. He didn't know what he was doing. Most of us manifest our abilities as children. After some practice, using them becomes second nature. It's like learning how to walk or talk."

"Do you know how to control your –"

When the waitress heads over with their food, Tim points to his temple before wiggling his fingers at Tony's fork. When Tony thinks about them, his fork and knife vibrate, rattling and plinking against the table. Scooping them up, Tony dunks them into his coffee. The waitress places Tim's plate in front of him and Tony's four—pancakes, sunny side up eggs, bacon, sausage and toast—by him.

She shoots Tony a questioning glance. "Is there something wrong with your silverware, honey?"

"I like dipping it in my coffee first." Tony plasters his best flirtatious grin. "It makes everything taste like coffee. It's way better than a regular breakfast."

"Whatever floats your boat." And with that, she's gone.

When Tony scoops up his silverware, he places them back on the table. He watches them for a long moment, but they aren't moving anymore. He picks up the fork and plunges it into the pancakes. Every so often his skin crawls like someone is watching him. Tony's eyes anxiously dart around the restaurant. Even though he has never felt so conspicuous in his life, everyone is too involved in their own food to notice him and Tim. Tony decides it must be the eggs—sunny side up always did look like eyes. When he goes to move them, they slide away before he even touches them.

Tim gapes at him. "Did you know you're doing that?"

Biting into a piece of bacon, Tony shakes his head. "My abilities are more like a party trick now. I was trained to limit them. I can only do little things. And even then, it's not all the time."

"Like?"

When Tony concentrates on Tim's plate, it lifts an inch off the table. On reflex, Tm snatches it out of the air and slams it back down. He leans on it protectively as though it might fly away again. A lady at a neighboring table shoots them a dirty look.

"He doesn't want to share his homefries." Tony shakes his fork at Tim. "He never learned manners as a kid. Raised by wolves. Big, hairy ones."

"Tony," Tim hisses. "Knock it off."

"You should hear him howl at the moon." When Tony pretends to be a werewolf, Tim grabs at his forearm. Tony just shakes him off and keeps going.

"Tony," Tim snaps.

But Tony's plan works because the woman just turns back to her own conversation. Tony gestures at her with raised eyebrows. It earns him an eye roll from Tim.

Once they are sure no one is eavesdropping, Tony turns serious and continues: "I never learned how to use my abilities, Tim. After I manifested, my dad…" Tony pokes at the sunny side up eggs until the yolk oozes"…sent me somewhere to learn how to be normal."

Tim's eyebrows jump. "Why would he do that?"

"He decided it was a disgrace to the DiNozzo family name when I accidently knocked the house down on my mother," Tony says, smiling ruefully.

Tim's breath catches in his throat as though he doesn't know quite what to say. All he offers is a sympathetic expression and a quiet, "I'm sorry, Tony."

But Tony just shrugs. He has heard it all before from the so-called grief counselors at the "gifted" schools and other students and random strangers. He always claimed it was an accident because that meant a ticket to freedom as soon as he hit 18. If he admitted he was trying to kill his father—the man was in the middle of beating his wife, after all—Tony would've been institutionalized, at best. At worst, the government would have taken him into custody and turned him into a weapon.

As they sink into an uneasy silence, they work at their breakfast. Tim actually eats while Tony only pushes his around the plate.

Tony is first to speak up. "You know, IA is coming to interview us."

"Kate told me this morning. I just— " Tim stares at Tony earnestly "— what I am supposed to tell them?"

"The truth," Tony says without hesitation.

Tim's fork clatters to the table. He gapes at Tony as though the thought of telling IA exactly what happened, that saying Tony is a mutant never crossed his mind. He scrubs his hand across his face, the color draining from his cheeks.

"Do you know what happens if I do?" he asks. "You could be convicted of murder. You could go to jail. You could…" He sneaks a furtive glance before he drops his voice "…you could be executed."

Tony shrugs. "And you'll go to jail if you lie."

Pushing his food away, Tim slumps back in the booth. He stares intently out the window.

"Is that why we came here? So you could present me with the Kobayashi Maru?" Tim asks.

Tony blinks. "The what?"

"It's a _Star Trek_ test with a guaranteed no win situation. You're a commander of a ship where you pass a passenger vessel called the Kobayashi Maru. They're about get annihilated by Klingons. You can either keep going and leave them to die. Or try to fight and get yourself killed in the process." Tim exhales. "Basically, you're damned if you do and damned if you don't."

Tony laughs. "Don't admit you know that if you ever want to get laid again."

Tim blushes severely. It takes him a long beat before he says: "You saved our lives last night and without your…" he nearly whispers "…abilities, we wouldn't still be alive."

"Yeah, but – "

Tim holds his hand up. "Look, Tony. I don't know whether we're friends, but we are partners. We always have each other's six. No matter what."


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer : If you recognize it, I still don't own it. All characters remain intellectual property of CBS and their creators**

 _ _-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-__

On his way back to the bullpen, Gibbs makes a pitstop in the conference room for a fresh cup of sewer water the Yard calls coffee. It's so cold he doesn't even feel it through the flimsy paper cup. He chugs half of it, wincing, before refilling it. Then, he heads to the elevator. Hopefully, Tony had enough time to speak with Tim. Whatever happened, they need to figure out a convincing story before IA shows up to question Tony's mutant status. He just hopes they'll both do the right thing: protect each other.

When he arrives, Gibbs is relieved to find Tim and Tony's desks empty. Kate stands by hers, deep in conversation with a man built like a scarecrow. That must be the big, bad IA agent who was supposed to arrive before breakfast. There was a weather delay on the red eye from San Diego. Talk about a damned shame. Kate's expression is fixed, eyes wrinkled and lips in a frown. To an untrained eye, she appears concerned. But to Gibbs, he knows that annoyance—the same reserved for Tony—and disdain—the one for Tim—simmer just below the surface. At the sight of him, she raises her chin.

"Gibbs," she says as lightly as she can.

The man wheels around. His face looks as though his features are stretched out over his skull. His hair is dark brown, his eyes as black as coal. His skin is so pale it could be translucent. His jet-black suit is impeccable and expensive. Gibbs figures he keeps the same fancy designers as Tony in business. He holds out a hand with long fingers.

"Agent Gibbs," he says, almost jovial. "I am Special Agent Elias Crenshaw from Internal Affairs."

Gibbs doesn't shake his hand. "Figured as much."

Undeterred, Crenshaw drops his hand to his side. He casts a glance around the nearly empty bullpen before flicking his eyes to Gibbs.

"I was just catching with Agent Todd up to speed," he says. "She said you weren't present when Agents DiNozzo and McGee arrived this morning."

Gibbs shakes his head.

"And you were?" Crenshaw asks.

"Working a case," Gibbs replies flatly.

"You know it is your duty as Special Agent in Charge to inform them to remain here and not converse to ensure an untainted investigation."

Gibbs smirks. "Oops."

"Do you know where they could be?"

"Well, you showed up at lunch time."

Crenshaw's lips twitch as though he might find it amusing too. "You know, Agent Gibbs, I am not here to cause any issues for you or your team. My only concern is discovering what actions led to three dead civilians. Situations like this tend to raise a lot of eyebrows. Namely, those of public officials."

"Even when those dirt bags had my agents at gunpoint," Gibbs fires back.

"That's what I'm here to determine." Crenshaw shifts his briefcase to his free hand. "How they managed to overcome three armed men. Certain things aren't adding up."

Gibbs purses his lips. "You pick the lock on the cuffs and get it done."

"That isn't what the eyewitness reported. He said the guns seemed to fly out of civilians' hands."

And that's when the pit in Gibbs' stomach returns. Even though his mouth goes dry and his heart kicks up, he just pinches his features together. He heard rumors about a subsection of Internal Affairs dedicated to uncovering mutants. And here, there is one such agent in their midst.

"What else did this 'eyewitness' say?" Gibbs asks.

Crenshaw shakes his head. "That was it. But since the report sounded like mutant activity, we must take it seriously."

"Mutant activity?" Kate repeats, stunned.

Before Crenshaw can reply, Gibbs growls: "You're going to believe a suspect over federal agents."

"Only if there _is_ a mutant at NCIS." When Gibbs makes a face, Crenshaw shrugs. "I'm just doing my job, Agent Gibbs. I am here to interview your team and report my findings to IA."

Kate perks up. "What would happen to a mutant at NCIS?"

When Gibbs levels a withering glance at her, her cheeks flush.

"Hypothetically, of course," she finishes.

"Of course," Crenshaw retorts with a broad smile. "They would spend 20 years in a maximum-security prison dedicated to mutants. Probably some of which your team has put away." He casts his eyes on here. "And if you are found guilty of aiding and abetting a mutant, you can expect five to ten years."

Kate's mouth pulls into a little _o._ Gibbs' stomach drops slightly. Gibbs can't stand the thought of Tony spending the rest of his life in jail. Because he knows—he just _knows_ —Tony wouldn't make it more than a week without annoying the hell out of someone with those damned movie quotes.

"Does that change your opinion on the matter, Agent Gibbs?" Crenshaw asks.

Gibbs sips his coffee. "Other than you wasting my tax dollars? Nope."

Crenshaw genuinely laughs. At that moment, the elevator dings. From their spot, Gibbs watches Tim and Tony step out of the elevator. Both men are uncharacteristically quiet and respecting each other's personal space. Tony isn't leveling digs at Tim and the younger man isn't loudly complaining about it. Staring at the floor, Tim has his hands buried in his pockets. Tony moves with his back ramrod straight, his easy expression belying the wariness in his eyes. What Gibbs wouldn't give for the chance to shove them both into the elevator, steal a Charger and drive them somewhere. Anywhere, as long as it's safe.

 _Because that won't look suspicious._

He tightens his grip on the coffee cup.

 _I couldn't protect them last night and I still can't. G-damnit._

Before the agents even reach the bullpen, Crenshaw is already on the move. Gibbs figures he is sizing them up, trying to determine the easier target. While Crenshaw might be perfectly personable, Gibbs fights the urge to shoot him in the back. As if reading his mind, Kate clucks her tongue.

Gibbs can only watch the scene unfold.

Crenshaw goes after Tim first. "Agent McGee. I'm Agent Elias Crenshaw from Internal Affairs. It looks like you drew the short straw."

Tim's unfocused eyes jump up. "For what?"

"The interview. I trust you can show me to interrogation."

"Uh, what interview?"

"The one regarding your experiences last night." Crenshaw sounds exasperated.

But it's just a smoke screen, a ploy to give Tim a moment to catch Gibbs' gaze. His eyes search his boss' as though asking for direction, advice, a blessing, anything. All Gibbs has to offer is a nod.

What Tim does is up to him.

 _-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

Tim sits on the suspect's side of the interrogation table. It's a place he never thought he would ever end up. He thinks the suspect's chair is harder than the one for the interviewer. The walls are a disgusting shade of grey, the light sickly yellow. It's unnerving, but even worse with that double paned mirror facing him. Anyone could be behind it, watching him talk to Crenshaw. Watching him lie.

But he isn't lying. Not yet, at least. Right now, they're just talking.

His reflection stares back in the mirror, silently judging him. His hands are clasped. His tie loosened. His head bowed slightly. He looks as every bit as guilty as he feels. His left leg starts to bounce.

 _How long before I crack?_

Crime scene photos are displayed on the table. Their presentation is neat and orderly while the subject matter is anything but. Three ash-white corpses on the beach illuminated by flood lights. Their weapons strewn beside them. The sand speckled with blood and bits of grey matter. While graphic images of crime scenes stopped bothering Tim years ago, he can't look at _these._ Even though he didn't pull the trigger to kill the men, he might as well be responsible.

Crenshaw leans forward. "Care to tell me what you're thinking, Agent McGee?"

Tim bites his lip.

"Can you walk me through what happened? And keep in mind, you are being recorded." Crenshaw hooks a thumb over his shoulder toward observation.

Tim takes a steadying breath before he starts: "We followed our suspect from the base to the lake house. After he went inside, Tony…" he motions with his hand, clarifying "…Agent DiNozzo decided to do his old undercover go-to, 'Stranded Motorist Needs a Phone' story in hope he might gain some intel."

"So he approached the lake house first?"

"Yes."

When Crenshaw takes notes, the scratching of his pen cuts through Tim. "Where were you?"

"I stayed in the car," Tim replies. "I was supposed to give him fifteen minutes after he called before I showed up as his ride."

More writing. "But things didn't go as planned."

Tim shakes his head. "One of the guys came outside to smoke a cigarette, I think. He walked up the road to where I was parked. He made me and when I tried to get my cell to warn Agent DiNozzo, he dragged me out of the car and hit me with his gun." He gestures to a deep bruise on the right side of his forehead. "I'm not really sure what happened before Agent DiNozzo and I ended up by the lake. I was pretty out of it. All I remember is we were handcuffed. They were making us walk somewhere."

Crenshaw takes more notes. Tim bites the inside of his cheek until it bleeds. He ignores the hot, metallic taste flooding his tongue. Instead, he starts to roll his fingers.

"And then?" Crenshaw asks.

"I don't know," Tim says as honestly as he can.

Crenshaw huffs quietly. "Are you telling me that you have no idea how three men ended up dead?"

Pressing his lips together, Tim looks at the photos. Three sets of unseeing eyes bore into him as though they can see into his very soul. And for a split-second, he wants to blather about how Tony killed them and how it was _his_ fault because he antagonized them. But when the thought of Tony cradling his head as he kneeled on the beach last night flashes in his mind, Tim gets it. He finally _gets_ it.

 _Tony risked his career for me._

Tim's eyes drift to Crenshaw.

 _I guess it's my turn._

When Tim touches the deep gash on his left temple, he winces. "I think I pissed them off because one of them clocked me. When I woke up, they were dead. I don't know what happened."

Crenshaw stares at him reproachfully. "Is that so?"

Tim nods. "Yes."

"Here's what I think, Agent McGee. I don't think this is normal human activity."

Keeping his eyes locked with Crenshaw, Tim struggles to be braver than he feels. He stills as though any twitch might be a confession. He hopes the floor will swallow him whole because he doesn't know how long he can remain steadfast. Sweat blossoms on his back. His heart pounds in his ears.

Suddenly, Crenshaw chucks his notebook in Tim's face. Tim doesn't get his hands up in time; the book whacks him square in the forehead.

"What the heck was that for?" he yelps.

"To see if it is you," Crenshaw replies as though it explains everything.

Tim's chest heaves. "If what's me?"

"The mutant."

Tim blinks. " _The what_?"

"Look, Agent McGee. I know a mutant is responsible for these deaths." Despite himself, Tim pales. "But I don't think it's you. I think you're protecting someone, willingly or unwillingly."

Crenshaw studies Tim for a long moment. He keeps his face open, expression neutral as though if he waits long enough Tim might change his mind. Tim can feel every second ticking on his wristwatch. He covers it with his left hand. When Crenshaw seems to accept the younger man won't fold, he reaches into his briefcase to produce a file labeled, _McGee, Timothy._

As he flips through it, Tim swallows audibly.

 _If this is a mind-fuck, it is totally working._

Crenshaw studies a page. "You know, Agent McGee, your credentials are quite impressive. BS in biomedical engineering from Johns Hopkins and MS in computer forensics from MIT." He looks up approvingly. "With that type of resume, you could be running NCIS someday."

Tim doesn't respond.

Crenshaw shifts back in his chair. "Which is why you could see how lying would be a problem. No one likes a director who is a liar."

"I'm not lying," Tim blurts out. "I was – "

"Furthermore, I see here that you are still a probationary field agent," Crenshaw continues. "Do you like it here in DC, Agent McGee?"

Tim's breath catches in his throat. "Very much."

"Did you know that I can recommend revoking your field status to the director? You could be reassigned to Norfolk before the end of the week." There's a twitch in his mouth that plays into a cruel smile. "Or if they aren't any case agent positions available, you could be sent anywhere in the world. I hear Great Lakes is quite nice in January."

Tim's heart falls straight into the pit of his stomach. He tears his gaze away from Crenshaw's face before it glides across the photos of the dead men, the pictures of the beach, his own file.

"Alright, Agent McGee, perhaps we should try again." Crenshaw slides a photo of the three men closer. "What happened to those men?"

Tim's eyes land on his reflection in the two-way mirror. He is haggard, a caged animal ready to gnaw his own arm off to be free. But in the desperation, there is something more. If he sells out his friend, he knows he'll never be able to look himself in the eye again. To keep his courage, he doesn't look away.

"Someone knocked me out," he whispers.

Crenshaw's look is pitying. "I thought you were smarter than this, Agent McGee."


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer : If you recognize it, I still don't own it. All characters remain intellectual property of CBS and their creators**

 _ _-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-__

Kate and Gibbs work at their desks like nothing is wrong. Like everything is fine. Like everything in the world is just fucking peachy. Like some Internal Affairs jerk—who might have a great eye for suits—isn't grilling Tim within an inch of his life. It just isn't right.

The only thing to keep Tony from crawling up the walls is his report. He stares at the blank Microsoft Word document where he is writing his account of last night's event. Well, he is _supposed_ to be writing his report. He hasn't typed a word since Crenshaw took Tim away.

The cursor blinks, challenging him, mocking him. He starts his computer screen, but the words end up as an incoherent mess. Huffing, he glares at them like it's all their fault. Then, he deletes them with a dramatic click of his keyboard. He tries again. Makes a face. Deletes that too. He presses his face into his hands and barely manages to suppress a scream.

 _What am I supposed to write? Hey, I'm a mutant who killed three men because they were going to murder McGee and me. And now, I'm trying to hide it to save my own skin._

He half-smiles to himself.

 _That would make a great movie, huh? Maybe they'd call it_ Teenage Mutant TADs.

Suddenly, Tony's skin crawls like someone is watching him. His eyes jump to Gibbs first, but he is trying to glare his computer into submission. Next, Tony glances at Kate, who just stares at him with troubled eyes. It just feels so wrong, so freaking wrong. He shakes his head, begging her to snap out of it and try to stab him with a well-placed verbal spare. He could handle the mocking humor they share but her concern scares the hell out of him.

"It'll be alright, DiNozzo," she says.

"There isn't anything to be afraid of, Kate." He shrugs flippantly. "Except maybe your hair. Did it see the business end of a brush today?"

Her face momentarily pinches in anger. Then, there's that pity again. "I got called in at 2AM after you and Tim failed to check in. I guess I forgot to."

Tony flinches. "I – uh, yeah…"

She jerks her chin up in a nod. "Yeah."

And at that moment, something bubbles deep in Tony's stomach. It feels like last night right before his abilities took control, but different because he feels compelled to do…something. Yeah, he needs to do something. He leaps to his feet, ready to grab his gear. No, he doesn't need his gear.

He needs to be in the elevator.

 _Why the elevator?_

It doesn't matter because he needs to be there right now. Right _fucking_ now.

Tony goes with it. Maybe it has something to do with his abilities. Maybe he'll take control of the elevator and go boom-zoom-to the moon. Just like Jackie Gleason from _The Honeymooners_ used to threaten his show-wife, Alice. For Tony, it probably wouldn't be a bad thing.

He takes off like a shot, moving so quickly he might as well be jogging. Kate hops up, mouth open and reeling between him and Gibbs. She might call after him, but her voice can't reach him.

It takes a few moments for the car to arrive. Tony keeps smashing the button until it shows up. Then, he jumps into the car. Once inside the elevator, an all-encompassing calm blankets him. He lets out a half-hearted sigh as he presses his back against the cold metal wall. Sliding to the floor, he tucks his knees to his chest. For the first time today, he starts to think that everything might be okay.

The doors start to close, but Tony doesn't care where it's headed. He'll ride this thing all day. Just before the doors close completely, Gibbs slithers through them. The elevator makes it a half-floor before he hits the _Elevator Stop_ button. The box plunges into darkness, an alarm rings somewhere in the distance.

Tony scrambles to his feet. "Boss."

Standing quietly, Gibbs studies his senior agent. Tony unconsciously straightens his hair before adjusting his tie. Gibbs always had a knack for staring at you in a way that make you feel like he could knock down all your walls. Like you were suddenly naked.

"Boss, I'm sorry," Tony chokes out.

Gibbs is taken aback. "For what?"

"For what happened." He grows more anxious. "I know you said if I used my abilities, you might not be able to protect me. But Boss, that guys was going to kill McGee. I had to stop it."

They stand together in silence for what feels like a long time. Then, Gibbs moves closer to clasp his hand on Tony's shoulder. The touch is comforting, reassuring, and strong. Everything Tony has ever wanted to feel from his boss. But it is wrong, _all wrong._

"Tony," Gibbs says.

The way Gibbs says his name makes Tony's stomach churn. Now, Tony _knows_ he is a dead man walking.

"They were going to kill you too," Gibbs continues quietly.

"But I outed myself, Boss," Tony says again. "I brought IA here."

"You did what you were supposed to."

Making a face, Tony shakes his head. "I made a mess."

Gibbs' smile is wry. "You can't clean it up if you're dead, Tony."

At that, Tony snaps his head up. He stares into his boss' clear blue eyes and that comforting feeling of being in the elevator washes over him again. He hugs his arms to his chest, nodding.

"I'm going to fix it," Gibbs says.

"What if you can't?" Panic seizes in Tony's chest. "What if Crenshaw gets to McGee?"

Closing his eyes, Gibbs tilts his head as though he listens to something. After a long beat, Gibbs shakes his head. "Have a little faith in your team, Tony. McGee's stronger than you give him credit for. Let me try to figure things out. Just don't say anything to Crenshaw, got it?"

"You mean, stall like our suspects do?" When Gibbs nods, Tony grins. "I would never do that, Boss."

Gibbs taps his hand on Tony's shoulder as though to say, _Attaboy._

Before Tony has a chance to ask, Gibbs hits the elevator stop button. The car groans to life, its lights flashing on. They nearly blind Tony. He doesn't even realize what is happening until the elevator arrives back on the fourth floor. When the doors open, they reveal Elias Crenshaw. He wears a disapproving expression, but he forces a tight-lipped, close-mouthed smile.

He holds his hand out. "You're up, Agent DiNozzo."

 _-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

Standing outside the elevator, Gibbs watches Crenshaw lead Tony toward interrogation. Tony walks with his hands in his pockets, head down, defeated. His fight is gone. It's like watching a condemned man march to the death chambers. The sight ignites a familiar fire in Gibbs' gut, a burning desire to rip his man out of the hellmouth with his bare hands.

As Tony disappears around the corner, Gibbs is moving. He rushes through the bullpen.

Kate and Tim are huddled at her desk. They pop up, eyes wide and fearful, like they were just caught committing a crime. At the sight of Gibbs, Kate visibly relaxes. Somehow, Tim's body goes even more rigid. He appears so tightly wound he might explode at the slightest provocation.

He steps forward. "Boss, I didn't say anything. About…" he drops his voice "…you know."

Gibbs cuts him off with a glare that says, _Why not just give it all away, McGee?_

Wilting, Tim finds one of Kate's framed photos immensely interesting. Even though Gibbs doesn't break stride, Kate tails him. He hits the base of the stairs before he wheels around to face her.

"Whaddya what, Kate?" he growls.

She doesn't back down. "What can we do, Gibbs? We aren't doing anything by sitting around."

"Go help Abby."

And thankfully, she doesn't question the order. She just races back to the bullpen to grab Tim. By now, Gibbs has to wonder how much she figured out. Sure, Tim knows because he saw Tony save their asses. But Kate…he can't tell if Kate is smart enough to pick up on everything or loyal enough to do whatever it takes to save her teammates' skins.

Gibbs takes the steps to the director's office two at a time. By the time he reaches the landing, Kate and Tim are on their way to the elevator. Tim's arms are full of computer gear that Gibbs neither has the patience nor the desire to learn about. As though something in that pile of technology might help them. And if it does, Gibbs might bother to learn about it.

He rushes straight past the director's secretary, who lets out a surprised gasp. She is blonde and barely college age, a nameless face in the never-ending parade of secretaries. She blinks her feathery eyelashes, as though she is unable to believe that Gibbs wouldn't stop when she asks. Hell, he doesn't even look at her. By the time he opens the door, she is finally on her feet.

"You can't go in there, Agent Gibbs," the secretary pleads. "The director's in a meeting."

Tottering on her heels, she is right on Gibbs' tail. She can't catch him in time. He barrels into the director's office with the secretary latched onto his upper arm.

Inside the office, Director Jenny Shepard is behind at her desk. A hardcover book with a picture of the Capitol and thick, red-block lettering stands on the desktop. Beside it, a huge sandwich that would make Tony drool is half-eaten.

"Meeting, my ass," Gibbs mutters.

Shepard glances up from the book, unamused. "It's none of your business how I conduct myself during my downtime, Agent Gibbs."

"I'm sorry, Director." The secretary pleads for her life while trying to physically drag Gibbs out. "I know you said you weren't to be disturbed. It's just that Agent Gibbs got past me. You know how he is." She is near hysterics now. "I didn't mean to."

Shepard makes a face. "It's okay, Melanie."

Tears well in the secretary's eyes. "My name's Christine."

And without being dismissed, she drops Gibbs' arm and darts out of the office. He locks the door behind her. When he turns back to Shepard, she holds out her sandwich.

"Care to join me for lunch while you're here?" she asks.

"Seriously, Jen?" he counters.

Her eyes narrow. "We've been over this, Jethro. It's Director Shepard."

Crossing his arms, he can't believe they're having this discussion _again._ And now, of all times. While his agents were being interrogated by IA and being threated, she is more concerned about what title he is supposed to be using. He barely contains the rage bubbling inside him.

She speaks first. "Why are you here, Jethro?"

"Call off your dogs, Jen." When she glares at him, he adds an irreverent: "Please, _ma'am."_

"Don't call me, ma'am." For a moment, her bravado breaks. She manages to refocus into a nasty expression. "And you know I can't ask Agent Crenshaw to leave. There is a certain protocol we – "

"The hell with protocol," Gibbs roars.

"That's not my call, Jethro. There are specific motions the agency must go through through when certain incidents occur." Shepard picks an errant piece of lettuce off her desk. "Do you know have any idea would happen if the press found out about this?"

"You'd rather throw DiNozzo to the wolves than worry about what the public thinks." Gibbs stares disbelievingly at her for a long moment. "What happened to you?"

When she looks up, something that might be sadness clouds her eyes. She riffles through some files on her desk to pick up one labeled _DiNozzo, Anthony._ From where Gibbs stands, he catches a sight at Tony's personnel picture from a few years ago. He looks like a cartooned version of himself with more hair and a broader and cockier grin than in real life. She offers it to Gibbs.

Scowling, Gibbs closes the distance to snatch the file. There are several lines scattered along the page that are highlighted in fluorescent yellow. He stares at the words, willing them to come into focus, but they are too blurry to read. He squints as though it could make them legible. Eventually, he whips out his reading glasses. Shepard smirks. He turns his back to her.

The personnel report is boring. Tony's education. Work history. Commendations from his police department jobs. FLETC scores—second in his class, not that he ever said. The highlighted portions are part of his service notes from Philadelphia and Peoria, special statement from his college transcripts. When Gibbs reads the highlighted words, his stomach drops. They read, _Suspected mutant_ and _Possibly a mutant_ and _Likely has telekinesis_ and _Unconfirmed telekinetic._

"See?" Shepard says as though it explains everything.

Gibbs faces her. "It doesn't matter as long as he gets the job done."

"While you might be right, it could a problem if Agent DiNozzo is breaking the law." She rests her hands her book. "When he draws attention to himself, it could be an issue for you and the rest of your team. You know, there are laws against aiding and abetting mutants, right?"

He just stares at her.

"Agent DiNozzo could have continued here if hadn't used his abilities. But once he starts, all bets are off." She presses her lips together, shrugging. "I know my predecessor was more liberal than I am. But things like last night can't happen under my watch."

Struggling to keep his anger in check, Gibbs focuses his attention on Shepard. He forces himself to remain calm as he starts reaching into her mind. It feels like running head first into a brick wall. He closes his eyes and tries again, but she isn't letting him in.

Shepard smirks. "That might've worked in Moscow, but it doesn't anymore. I've learned how to protect myself from _that._ I won't make the same mistake again."

"So that's it?" Gibbs asks.

She studies him before marching over to grab the file out of his hands. She still smells the same as she did in Moscow, the scent of roses and lilacs after a summer storm cling to her like rain clouds. He mentally reaches for her again.

Shepard looks back, knowingly. "Not anymore, Jethro."

He half-nods. She smiles sadly before hardening her expression. Then, she tosses Tony's file into a bottom desk drawer. She locks her desk before tossing her keys at Gibbs. They hit him square in the chest and he fumbles to keep hold. His surprised eyes dart between her and the keyring.

"It's a shame Melanie misplaced my keys again, isn't it?" she says, shrugging.

Gibbs pockets the keys. "Her name's Christine."

Shepard shrugs again. "It doesn't matter. She still hates me."

He smiles wryly.

"The locksmith won't be here until tomorrow morning. Crenshaw might already have the rest of your team's files but it's a shame I have DiNozzo's in my desk." Her earnest eyes lock onto Gibbs'. "Hopefully, he won't need it before then."

Understanding that she is giving him time, he checks his watch. The day is starting to close. He has three hours before Crenshaw will likely wrap up his interrogations for the day. Three hours to bury this whole fiasco, save his team, save Tony. On his way out, he projects a feeling of gratitude. He never lets himself say the words, but he wants— _needs—_ Shepard to know he appreciate her stonewalling Crenshaw.

Her matching beam meets his, as she opens herself to him. He feels painfully calm. It feels like the sun on his face after a rain storm, a flower blooming to greet the sun. He hasn't felt like this since Moscow. No, he hasn't felt like this since before Shannon and Kelly died. Loved. He feels loved.

When he wheels back to face Shepard, her smile is sad.

Something deep in his chest aches. Even though she is one of them—just like him and Tony—bureaucracy will always get in the way of saving her kind.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer : If you recognize it, I still don't own it. All characters remain intellectual property of CBS and their creator.  
**

 _ _-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-__

The view on the suspect's side of interrogation isn't as dazzling as Tony expected. For all the movies, he watches he expected to feel—excitement? a thrill?— _something._ He never noticed how dingy the walls are. The lights make everything glow a sulfuric yellow. He taps his fingers on the table—even that feels like it's hollow—as he stares into Crenshaw's dead eyes. Neither of them wants to be the first to look away, the first to cave. That will likely show the loser even this early in the game.

The only sure sign Crenshaw is still alive is the steady rise and fall of his shoulders. With his pale skin and near black eyes, Crenshaw looks every bit the vampire from Tony's silent horror movies. While Crenshaw has more hair than _Nosferatu,_ he still has those snaggle teeth that look ready to sink into someone's neck. Sure, Crenshaw might strike fear into the hearts of baby agents and probies everywhere. Hell, the man probably made Tim sweat through his shirt. But Tony didn't spend years assisting Gibbs' interrogations to fold for someone like Crenshaw. He might not have garlic and a stake, but he stands up to Gibbs regularly enough to know when not to back down.

Now is not the time.

Tony shifts in his seat. The room is so silent that it's starting to make him edgy. There is only one thing more lethal than a leggy blonde and it's that all-encompassing silence that Tony _must_ to fill. It's like a thick blanket, suffocating and stifling. He can't seem to breath right.

And he feels _it_ coming. That non-stop, rapid-fire _talking_ that Tony is known for, but often gets him into so much trouble. Word vomit, Kate called it once.

Taking a huge risk, Tony tilts his head towards the two-way mirror. He pictures himself standing in the observation room. He stood in there so many times he knows the location of every piece of equipment. He taps a finger on the table, thinks about turning off the video. Done. Another tap and there goes the audio. Thankfully, these abilities were never trained away.

And then, it's show time.

"You look really familiar, Agent Crenshaw," Tony says conversationally.

Crenshaw leans back in his chair. He quirks an eyebrow, smiling as though Tony is an old friend. The expression scares the hell out of Tony because Crenshaw resembles a snake prowling through the grass.

"Oh yeah?" Crenshaw replies.

Tony furrows his brow. "Yeah, I can't seem to put my finger on it though."

Crenshaw starts, "A lot of people say – "

Tony whacks his hand on the table. "That's it! Did you ever see _Sleepy Hollow_ with Johnny Depp and Christina Ricci?"

Crenshaw studies Tony as though he isn't quite sure where this is going. He plays along anyway. "Of course, Agent DiNozzo. It's one of Tim Burton's best. My wife often says I look like Johnny Depp."

"No, I wasn't thinking him." Tony wrinkles his nose. "You look more like the Horseman. You know, Christopher Walken before he puts his head back on."

Crenshaw's expression sours.

"That Horseman sure was a snappy dresser," Tony rambles. "They must have called in some favors to get those costumes done, huh? Not quite Armani, but close enough."

Crenshaw opens his mouth, but he can't get a word in.

"Speaking of Armani, where did you get that suit?" Tony half-stands to soak up Crenshaw's outfit. "I know those shoes are Ferrigamo. Nice choice, by the way. Is that tie Gucci?"

Crenshaw's face darkens further. "Yes. But the suit is Zegna, not Armani."

"Last season?"

Crenshaw doesn't say anything.

Tony leans forward conspiratorially. "Don't worry, Agent Crenshaw. I won't tell anyone."

"While we aren't here to discuss my clothing choices, it is _this_ season's. We need – "

"Mine too!" Tony blurts out, showing off his jacket. "I bet we're suit twins. You know, like Arnie and Danny Devito in _Twins._ But you'll have to be Danny Devito because _I_ can't be him. Obviously."

Crenshaw makes a note on his pad. From where he sits, it looks like: _Agent DiNozzo is a fruitcake._

"Speaking of Zegna, do you see Don Julio at the flagship store? He is my tailor. He knows just how to really accentuate out your assets – " Tony raises his eyebrows "— if know what I mean?"

"I can assure you that I don't, Agent DiNozzo." When Tony starts to stand, Crenshaw holds his hand up. "But I can imagine where this is going. Before we arrive, I think it's time to return to the task at hand."

"Just tell me where you got that suit," Tony asks. "I haven't seen it in the store."

"I picked it up on my last assignment." Crenshaw pushes a breath through his teeth. "In Milan."

Tony's expression turns impressed. "That must've cost a fortune."

"It did."

The cocky admission is enough to stun Tony into silence. Finally achieving the upper hand, Crenshaw removes photos from the dead men from a file. As each one hits the table, memories of standing at the lake edge wash over Tony. It takes everything he has to maintain the last tendril of control because he feels them slip away like they did last night. His stomach churns. He looks away.

"I'd like to hear your version of what happened," Crenshaw says, tone even and unnerving.

Shifting back in his chair, Tony manages to present an air of calm. "Agent McGee and I were on a stakeout. It was my idea to approach the suspects' residence as a stranded motorist. I planned to get eyes on their hideout. We had every reason to believe the missing petty officer we are trying to locate was still inside. At that point, we weren't sure whether he was a victim or a member of a drug ring."

Crenshaw half nods. "But something went wrong?"

"One of the drug dealers was a chain smoker with an exercise habit. He decided to go for a hike in the middle of the night and I suspect he came across our car. He noticed Agent McGee, roughed him up and brought him back to the house. Not much I can do when they've got my partner handcuffed at gunpoint." Tony shrugs. "It wasn't much a stretch to figure out I was with him."

Crenshaw makes a note. "That's how you ended up on the beach."

Tony's voice grows distant. "Yeah, they were going to kill us."

"But somehow, these three men ended up dead instead."

Only in an IA agent's mind was it worse for would-be murderers to end up dead instead of federal agents. The corner of Tony's mouth twitches into a humorless smile.

"You make that sound like a bad thing, Agent Crenshaw," Tony says flatly.

"I never said that. I am only trying to ascertain how they died."

"Disagreement over where to ditch our bodies? _Shoot-out at the OK Corral?"_ Tony shrugs as he looks away. "Lovers' quarrel?"

Crenshaw glares Tony down. "You and I know both know that's a lie. How did they really die?"

"Aliens."

"This isn't a joke, Agent DiNozzo." Gone is the affable man, replace by a cobra poised to strike. "Three men are dead and I intend to find out how." He removes several pages from a file. "According to Dr. Mallard's autopsy results, they were killed at close range by their own weapons. Each was shot in the head from a height relative to his own. Which means the killer would need to be—" he checks the report "— five feet two inches, five feet ten inches and six foot, three inches." He stares at Tony expectantly. "At the same time."

"Shape shifting aliens."

Crenshaw sets his jaw. "Or a single mutant."

Tony's mouth goes dry. He swallows hard, trying to rewet it.

Crenshaw looks at his pad. "I have reason to believe Agent McGee is the culprit."

Tony chokes on air before he cracks up. "You think _McGee_ did that? He is greener than the grass over a septic tank. He'd blow his own head off before he'd hit the broad side of a barn. He's a…" His voice trails off at the sick smile twisted on Crenshaw's face. Tony is caught like a fly in a spider's net.

 _Son of a bitch, I played right into it._

"That leaves only other person there," Crenshaw says.

Tony's eyebrows jump. "Who?"

"You."

"Oh yeah." Tony nods.

Crenshaw's faces pinches in annoyance. It's an expression that Tony knows all too well. He is getting on the man's last nerve and he _knows_ it. Tony pictures himself in observation. He taps his finger on the table, almost imperceptibly. A loud knock echoes from the two-way glass. Crenshaw ignores it.

"I think you're the mutant," he announces.

"That is _so_ cool." Tony flashes his trademark grin. "What's my power?"

Crenshaw isn't amused. "I'm giving you an out, Agent DiNozzo. Come clean and we can negotiate something that'll keep you out of gen pop."

Feeling on the verge of panic, Tony touches his finger to the table again. The pounding rattles the glass on the two-way mirror. Clenching his teeth, Crenshaw wheels around to glare at it.

"Agent McGee already told me everything," Crenshaw says. "You're going down, Agent DiNozzo. I'm trying to help you. Really, I am. But you have to let me."

Another tap of Tony's finger. More pounding on the mirror.

"Aren't you going to get that?" he asks nonchalantly.

Slamming his hand on the table, Crenshaw climbs to his feet. He looks at Tony, holding up one finger to say _One minute_ before starting towards the door. Tony just waves to his retreating form.

For a moment, Tony considers Crenshaw's words that Tim ratted him out. He holds his breath, presses his hands together to keep himself in the moment. If his partner turned him in, Tony is…well, he would be a dead man as soon as he hit prison. But Tim wouldn't do that. Would he?

Tony chews on his lip. Then, he winces at even thinking his partner would sell him out. Sure, Tim doesn't like Tony—hell, most people don't—but the younger man just isn't that kind of man. He is righteous and moral and idealistic. Kinda like a younger, clumsier, and tech-savvy version of Gibbs. Okay, the comparison was bad, but Tony is grasping at straws. After all, they are all he has.

 _Didn't Crenshaw say earlier he thought McGee is the mutant? He is grasping at straws too._

 _But could he threaten to arrest McGee instead of me? Human Probie wouldn't last more than an hour in supermax mutant prison._

Tony grimaces.

 _I probably won't either._

Needing to keep Crenshaw directed at him, Tony has no choice but to up the ante. He closes his eyes, picturing himself unplugging the equipment in observation. Then, he raps his hand against the table and there's the echo of his knock on the mirror. When he doesn't get a reply, he does it again and again. Finally, Crenshaw pounds on the glass to convey he is watching.

Tony lifts his hands, focusing his energy on Crenshaw's papers and files. The papers begin to float around him. For a moment, he marvels at what he can do. He wonders what it would be like if he knew how to control this on a whim. He wonders what it would be like to use them every day.

Suddenly, his energy starts slipping. He feels like he is sprinting in the last stretch of a marathon. The papers dip towards the ground. Tony gives one more push as he raises his hands a little higher. It is time for the big finish. He twirls his fingers and the pages whip through the air like they're in a tornado. When Tony drops his hands, the papers flutter back to earth. He collapses onto the table, panting.

Tony barely registers Crenshaw in the doorway. The IA agent's face is rapt with awe and anger. His dark eyes burn, all fire and brimstone.

"It _is_ you," he growls.

Tony smirks. "Prove it."


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer : If you recognize it, I still don't own it. All characters remain intellectual property of CBS and their creator.  
**

 _ _-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-__

Down in Abby's lab, Tim doubts he should be anywhere near here. To still be involved in a case that involved him and Tony goes against everything he learned in FLETC. Hell, it's probably against agency protocol too. Since Director Shepard told Crenshaw she could only spare one interrogation room, the IA agent had to cut Tim loose so he could interview Tony. Tim would've stayed at his desk, but one firm glare from Kate and a _Gibbs said so_ brought him to the forensics lab. If anything is going to cost him his job today, it sure as hell won't be _this._

He just isn't in the mood for the music thumping through the speakers right now. The chainsaws and guitar riffs pulse through his head. He hasn't been able to shake the headache Crenshaw's interrogation gave him. A particularly dissonant chord leaves him massaging his temples.

But he doesn't dare ask Abby to change it. He likes to think he is smarter than that. Smarter than to get in her way when she is on the warpath to protect her team. Right now, she hunches over Major Mass Spec, whispering sweet nothings into the input valve. Like a hound dog on the trail, Abby is blind to the world around her. Kate stands by her side, confused eyes flicking between Abby and Tim.

Tim thinks he hears Abby mutter, "Just give me something, baby. Anything. I'll take anything."

 _She's lost it,_ Kate mouths at Tim. She twirls her finger by her right ear for emphasis.

He just shrugs because he's been here enough before. If he gets in her way, Abby will likely rip him to pieces. It was something she said one night in her coffin—after they made love by Tim's account, screwed their brains out by Abby's—that she could kill someone without leaving any evidence. The thought always made Tim's blood run cold and he really doesn't feel like finding out if it's true.

"I saw that," Abby snaps.

Stiffening, Kate takes a step back. "I didn't mean. It's just that…Abby, what are you doing?"

"I'm trying to explain to Major Mass Spec how important these results are." Abby shoots Kate a _duh_ expression.

"Right," Tim says. "But what are you trying to get him to do?"

She tilts around the lab bench. Her pigtails frame her face like a schoolgirl. "We're running a back-up analysis on the victims' hands for any trace of gunshot residue."

"I thought you already did that," Kate offers.

Abby nods. "I did, but I'm running them again. Re-running them. Hence the word, _back-up_."

Kate makes a face. "Why?"

"Because none of the forensic evidence makes any sense at all. Like at all. That's the thing about science. It always has to make sense because it's science. It's like the most basic principle."

Tim furrows his brow. "I thought the scientific method was be the most important."

Abby stares at him blankly. "This is even more basic than that, McGee. If the results don't make sense, the scientific method need not apply."

The flush creeps over his cheeks. He turns back to his computer, but he isn't really working. The financials from their missing petty officer—they seem to have forgotten about him with everything—flash on the screen. Tim doesn't know why he is even bothering. He is living on borrowed time, going through motions until Crenshaw uncovers everything. He tries not to think about Tony, laughing at his own lame jokes while getting grilled by Crenshaw. Tim just hopes Tony has some plausible story about why three civilians died by their own weapons with zero forensic evidence.

 _I hope it's enough to save us both._

"….tell us, McGee." Abby is saying.

Tim sheepishly pops his head up. Both Abby and Kate know he wasn't listening. They share a glance as though to say how cute they think it is. Tim feels his ears flush. While he doesn't usually mind, he is starting to hate how being cute never equates to getting the girl.

 _Not like it matters anymore._

His face flushes again. "Huh?"

"It's a shame you and Tony can't just tell us, McGee." When he blinks slowly, Abby rolls her eyes at Kate. She talks to him like he's an idiot. "It's a shame you and Tony can't just tell us what happened. It would make everything so much easier."

"Someone knocked me out." That's his story and he's sticking to it.

Abby frowns deeply. "You didn't tell me that _."_

 _That's because I decided on it this morning._

He half-shrugs. "I thought it wasn't a big deal."

After rushing over, Abby pauses to look— _really, look—_ at him. She cups his cheek, rubbing her thumb against the bruise by his eye. He feels his knees go slack. He wants to melt into this moment for forever until he notices Kate staring them down. Tim starts to pull away, but Abby drags him into a tight hug. She squeezes him so hard that Tim can't breathe. By the time she is done, he is pretty sure she broke a few ribs. He begins to speak, but Major Mass Spec interrupts him.

"About darned time," Abby says, bounding away.

She acts like nothing happened. Tim is still reeling.

Kate offers him a sympathetic smile. And it nearly kills him.

Abby pulls a sheet of paper out from the mass spectrometer. She studies it for a moment before turning to her machine, gesturing wildly.

"I don't understand, Major Mass Spec," she nearly howls. "What are you trying to tell me?"

Major Mass Spec whirrs to himself.

"This can't be right." She shakes the paper at the machine. "It doesn't make any sense. How can the victim have so much antimony on his hands, but no barium. You told me the same thing Mini-Mass Spec did, but it doesn't make any sense. Don't make me break out the new mass spec the director just bought me." With her hands on her hips, she glares at the machine. "Is that what you want? Because I'll do it."

The scene is enough for Kate to join Tim on the other side of the lab bench. They watch Abby square off with her machine, neither one wanting to break it apart.

"You know I will," she threatens.

The machine just whirrs some more.

Abby takes to bargaining. "Director Shepard said I needed to upgrade my equipment. But Major Mass Spec, I stand by you. I told her that as long as you give me results, I don't have to box you up. But – "

Kate is suicidal enough to speak up. "What did it say?"

" _He_ said the victim had antimony on his hand, but no barium."

"And?" Kate presses.

Abby gestures at Tim. "McGee, explain. I'm busy."

While she returns to berating her machine, Tim turns to Kate. "Antinomy is a rare earth metal that turns up on a gunshot shot residue test. Some people just have it on their hands from daily life. But if it's present with barium, they probably fired a gun recently."

"And no barium?" Kate asks.

Tim swallows hard. "No gun shot residue."

"Ah," she says. "I get why Abby's so upset."

Abby wheels around, eyes crazed. "Do you, Kate? Do you _really_?"

Paling, Kate shrinks back. "Maybe not."

"I can't explain how these men died." Abby gestures to a machine in the corner. "Plasma Mass Spec says no gunshot residue on the victims' hands. And no residue on Tony and McGee's jackets either. Mini Mass Spec says the same thing." She moves to pile of clothes sealed in separate evidence bags. Tim wonders whether he'll ever see his favorite trench coat again. "Major Mass Spec confirms what she said. No gunshot residue on anything."

"Then how did those guys wind up dead?" Kate asks.

Abby holds her hands out as though she could make an answer appear. Tim's heart clenches at the sight because he could be the one to restore her faith in her machines, science, herself. He could be the one to tell her the truth. Or he could buy Tony as much time as he can.

Tim covers his mouth with his hand as he watches Abby work her magic.

"There was no gunshot residue on anyone there. And whomever killed the men was the exact same height as them." Holding her index finger like a gun, Abby points it at Kate's head. When she moves to Tim's head, she moves her arm up. "It's just not possible. It _shouldn't_ be possible."

"So we're looking for three perps," Kate surmises.

Abby hems and haws. "Or something that I didn't think could happen. It _shouldn't_ happen, but it might have happened. I mean, it's crazy. Like crazy crazy." She draws the last word out like _craaaaazy. "_ But it's the only thing that could make sense. Because science – " she holds her hand up for emphasis "—science is never, ever wrong and neither is Major Mass Spec. I – "

"Abby," Kate interrupts. "What's your theory?"

Twirling a pigtail around her finger, she shoots a furtive glance at her mass spectrometer. Tim thinks he must just keel over right here. If they figure out Tony's secret…well, he doesn't think about what would happen. They would tell Gibbs. They would _have_ to. Then, what? Would the team leader try to bury Tony's secret? Or would he tell the agency like he is mandated to? If Gibbs tells the director, they'll uncover Tony's abilities and every single one of Tim's lies.

 _Tony and I are so screwed._

"A mutant," Abby says with surprising conviction.

Kate's laugh indicates it's outrageous. "A mutant?"

Abby sighs. "Like I said, it's crazy."

Moving to her computer, Abby uses her hip to ease Tim aside. He leans against the bench because his legs feel like they won't support his weight anymore. Kate and Abby don't notice because they're too engrossed in the computer monitor. With a few clicks, she brings up a model of three faceless men holding handguns standing in a tight circle. There are two others without guns that Tim assumes are him and Tony. Abby rolls the mouse, types. Each _click click click_ of the keys cut through Tim like a gunshot. Before long, Abby has added another person to the model.

Kate looks unimpressed. "How does that explain anything?"

This time, Abby clicks her mouse with a flourish. On the screen, the guns fly out of the faceless men's hands. They move of their own volition to hover in front of the men's face. A simultaneous pop of three prerecorded gunshots echoes from the tinny speakers. Tim visibly flinches at the noise. The three men fall to the ground and the model freezes.

He can't even breathe.

"Oh," Kate says. "Now we're looking for a mutant. That's just gr – " She trails off.

When Tim feels someone staring a hole through him, he rips his eyes off the screen. Kate and Abby watch him, wide-eyed with wonder and dread. He can't read the expressions on their faces. Confusion. Uncertainty. Maybe even a little touch of fear.

Tim tries to laugh it off, but he fails miserably.

"Timmy." Abby's voice comes as a whisper.

"It isn't like that," he says. "It's just that…I didn't…I can't…"

"Then what is it like, McGee?" Kate asks, tone even.

"Someone knocked me out," he says as though it could make it true.

Abby and Kate share a concerned glance.

Suddenly, it feels like the walls are closing around Tim. The air grows too thick and heavy to breathe. He is drowning on dry land. He loosens his tie to help the air flow into his lungs. Small spots start to prick into his vision. He needs to get out of here, now. _Right fucking now_.

He backpedals, stumbling and tripping out of the lab. One of them calls his name, but he doesn't look back. He bolts straight for the men's room, figuring they'll leave him alone here. The air in the bathroom is cool and humid, a relief after the lab. He heads right for the sink, laying his hands on the chilled porcelain. When he meets his own eyes, they are haggard and tired and exhausted. While Tim never has been one for breaking the rules, the price on his own soul for selling Tony out is far too high.

Behind him, the door creaks open. Tim doesn't look up because he figures it's another man. Probably one of the other basement dwellers like Abby. When the lock clicks into place, his stomach drops. He whirls around to find Kate and Abby there. While Abby hangs back with her arms hugged to her chest, Kate approaches him as though he is a lion ready to strike. She forces herself to keep her posture relaxed, but her muscles are tense enough to attack at the slightest provocation.

"Why didn't you tell me, Timmy?" Abby cries. "I don't care that you're a mutant. You of all people should know that. You're still my Timmy and you'll be my friend no matter what you are."

And there's the _f_ -word again. Friend friend friend. He will always be in the freaking friend-zone. Nothing more than…wait, a second. Did she just…

Tim's brain catches up. "You think _I'm_ the mutant? _Me?!_ "

Kate doesn't take her eyes off him. "It's either you or – "

"Tony?!" Abby's shriek is loud enough for the whole building to hear.

Closing his eyes, Tim cringes inwardly. He puts his hand to his forehead, curses under his breath.

"Does Gibbs know?" Kate breathes.

Pursing his lips, Tim shrugs.

Abby looks like someone slapped her. Her eyes nearly bug out of her head, her mouth gapes open. She is shaking violently enough for Tim to put his arm around her. She melts into him, but he manages to keep his emotion in check. This time.

Truly relaxing, Kate crosses her arms. "What exactly happened, McGee?"

Not needing to keep his secret any longer, he tells Kate and Abby everything. He even explains what happened in interrogation with Crenshaw. When he is done, relief floods over him. For what it's worth, he achieved absolution. Whether it will keep him out of prison remains to be seen.

"What are we going to do, Timmy? What should we do, Kate?" Abby wails. "If that big, bad IA agent figures it out, they'll take Tony away. We'll never see him again."

Kate mutters something that sounds like, _That might not be the end of the world._ Abby punches her in the shoulder, _hard_. Kate holds her hands up in surrender.

"What are we going to do?" Abby wails.

"I don't know, Abs," Tim admits.

Kate's eyes light up. "Do you think you can get rid of those computer models, Abby?"

Abby blinks. "Yeah, I guess I could erase them. Maybe I could just tell that IA agent that I'm still working on it. Or maybe – " her face beams "—I could tell him that the results were inconclusive. I have always wanted to say that, but you know Gibbs would never take that for an answer."

"I think we should wipe the hard drive," Tim says. "Completely clean it so there's no trail. If you only erase them, someone might be able to reconstruct them later."

"Are you suggesting we destroy evidence, Timmy?" Abby shoots back.

"No, of course not." Tim flushes. "Well, I just thought…Yeah, you're right. It's a terrible idea."

"Under any ordinary circumstance, yes. But right now, I think it's a fantastic idea," Abby says, grinning. "I just never thought you'd suggest that. Gibbs is rubbing off on you already."

Tim's chest swells with pride. It takes him a moment to notice Kate is already at the door.

"Where are you going, Kate?" he calls.

She looks over her shoulder. "I need to talk to Gibbs."


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer : If you recognize it, I still don't own it. All characters remain intellectual property of CBS and their creator.  
**

 _ _-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-__

Sitting at his desk, Gibbs keeps his eyes closed. While his appearance is still and calm, his mind moves at a million miles an hour. He tries to pick Crenshaw's energy from those of the ever-present agents in the building. He locates the man in Interrogation Room Three, an angry storm brewing against the fluffy cloud-like softness of those familiar. Even though everyone is different, the good-natured people tend to radiate something that feels fleecy and cottony, akin to a down comforter.

Evening out his breathing, Gibbs draws up his own energy. While he is practiced enough that it should be easy, he isn't used to a target like Crenshaw. He tends to influence the minds of people who aren't smart like criminals and dirt bags.

Gibbs gently digs into Crenshaw's brain to drop a hint to leave Tony alone. That's the nature of Gibbs' power: leaving a suggestion to let his subject fill in the rest. Sure, he could push his own thoughts onto his subject, but the effects can be disastrous if the subject isn't strong enough to handle it. And the last thing Gibbs needs is for Crenshaw to blow his own brains out in Interrogation.

 _Then, they won't just be looking for Tony._

Gibbs develops the thought: Tim and Tony were taken hostage by the dead men and fought their way out. Clean and simple. He muddles the autopsy results—Ducky never does bend the rules for him—and throws together some believable forensics. When he starts to plant the seed, Crenshaw's resistance is shocking. Drawing up more power, Gibbs shoves the thought even harder. But trying to reach Crenshaw's brain is like attacking a tank with a combat knife. It might be strong, but it doesn't help.

 _He has training against mind attacks –_

Gibbs severs the connection. He opens his eyes, unsettled.

– _which means he isn't from the regular IA at all. His job is to discover mutants in the ranks._

Gibbs slams his eyes shut again. He begins searching for his team's unique energy signatures. Usually, he only locates them during an active shooter situation. But today, it seems apt.

Down in interrogation, Tony's energy pulses as gritty and courageous, tinged with exhaustion. He locates Tim and Abby in the forensics lab. Abby comes as frantic and hysterical, just like she does when they're knee deep in a case. Gibbs barely recognizes Tim's gentle and compassionate signature because it is replaced with cunning and stealth. Things he never thought his youngest agent capable of.

Gibbs checks for Kate, but it takes a few moments to find her. South Stairwell, moving upstairs—fast. Anxiety and curiosity radiate from her. He goes to read her mind, but he thinks better of it. It was an unspoken promise he made to his agents when they joined his team. While he could easily read their minds, he never would. Their thoughts would always remain their own. Sure, he often plants the odd case related suggestion here and there, but that's the most he ever does. And hell, he doesn't have to read her mind to understand what Kate _knows._

Before he can figure out how to handle her, he picks another energy in the elevator. It seems to be racing Kate back to the bullpen. Crenshaw is on the move.

Gibbs pulls back into his own mind. He sips his coffee slowly, wondering who will reach him first.

The elevator digs at the same moment that the South Stairwell door slams. Two sets of heavy footsteps echo through the floor. Kate is nearly running while Crenshaw's steps are slow and calculated. They both hit the entrance to the bullpen at the same time. Neither bothers to look at the other.

With one look, Gibbs understands everything Kate isn't saying. Her thoughts are powerful enough to transmit straight into his head. How she knows about Tony. How Tim and Abby are in the process of destroying evidence. How she wants—expects, _needs—_ him to fix everything.

"Gibbs!" Kate is breathless.

Gibbs holds his hand up. "Got it."

She steps back, blinking slowly. Then, she turns as though she just notices that Crenshaw is there. She manages to regain her composure enough to head to her desk. Crenshaw cocks his head. Once she is settled, he turns to study Gibbs. His face brims with anger.

 _He figured it out too._

Gibbs tries to swallow his own rage, but it doesn't work. He crosses his arms, straightens his back. Holds his ground because he will die on this hill if it means protecting Tony and his team.

"Care to have a word, Agent Gibbs?" Crenshaw asks.

Gibbs reaches in Crenshaw's mind again. He just wants one more try to plant the suggestion that Tony is an average-Joe, a run of the mill agent, a boring man-child hardly worth bothering. Crenshaw's defenses raise again. Gibbs might as well be bashing his head against his desk.

"I won't ask again, Agent Gibbs," Crenshaw says.

Gibbs clips a nod. "But my interrogation room, not yours."

Crenshaw half-shrugs as though say, _As you wish._

Gibbs leads the way to the elevator. He feels Kate's questioning eyes on his back even the doors close. Inside, the air is thick and dry. The lights bathe everything in a strange, blue glow, making Crenshaw look even more sickly. As soon as the elevator moves, Gibbs slams the _Emergency_ button and the car jerks to a halt. The lights cut out, leaving the back-up sulfuric lights in their wake. Somewhere far away, the emergency siren screams to itself.

Crenshaw speaks first. "I can see why you chose this place, Agent Gibbs. It's cozy."

"And private," Gibbs says.

Looking at Gibbs out of the corner of his eye, Crenshaw smiles wickedly. "There aren't any recording devices either. Is this the part where you admit Agent DiNozzo is a mutant?"

"Nope."

"That's what I thought." Crenshaw shakes his head. "Look, Gibbs, I'm a reasonable man. If you tell me, I will do my best to keep your name clean. We already know Agent DiNozzo will be headed to prison for impersonating a federal agent as a mutant. I'm fairly certain Agent McGee will be joining him for obstruction of justice."

 _Attaboy, McGee._

"And?" Gibbs asks blandly.

"I'm sure I will discover Agent Todd knows. As well as whomever works in your forensics lab and your ME." The halo of the emergency lights glitter in Crenshaw's coal black eyes. "And when I do, I will recommend they be terminated immediately."

Half-nodding, Gibbs skirts his gaze away from Crenshaw. He stares at their reflections in the silver doors. They are ambiguous, faceless shapes in the unpolished metal. He inhales deeply. It is easier to force a thought into someone's mind when you don't have to look them in the eye.

Gibbs develops his energy around the thought that Tony and Tim were just two people in the wrong place at the wrong time. He muddles some rudimentary forensics to seal the deal. As he pushes the thoughts into Crenshaw's mind, the power wells up inside him. It starts in his stomach, bubbling white-hot before it burns through his body. By now, the thoughts should be gone to leave the chills and nausea and shaking in their stead. But the thoughts don't go anywhere, they just pinball around Gibbs' own brain. He takes another breath, grinds his teeth until they hurt. Shoves _harder._

Trying to force a thought into Crenshaw's mind is like trying to shove an elephant through the eye of a needle. Gibbs backs off, struggling to regroup. Before he has another chance, he recognizes the sound of a gun unholstering.

Crenshaw holds a Sig Sauer level with Gibbs' heart. His eyes are wild. His stance is untrained, feet too close together and shoulders unsquared. While it wouldn't take much for Gibbs—or hell, even the greenest probationary agent—to overpower him, it still wouldn't get rid of him.

Gibbs reaches for his own hip, but its empty. His own weapon is safely stashed in his desk drawer as per agency protocol. It kills him to raise his hands in surrender.

"You're one of _them,"_ Crenshaw growls.

Gibbs tilts his head. "I'm a federal agent."

" _And a mutant_." Crenshaw's expression darkens as he nearly spits the word. "I should have known there would be another one. You're like roaches. Where there's one, there's always more. I felt what you did there. I thought my mind was playing tricks on me earlier, but now I know. Trying to make me think thoughts that aren't mine. Did you really think it would work?"

Gibbs sets his jaw. There is one last thing he can try.

"Did you think I don't know how to protect myself from the likes of _you?"_ Crenshaw continues.

"Then you know you shouldn't think about anything you don't want me to know," Gibbs says flatly.

He stares directly into Crenshaw's eyes. While Crenshaw tries to maintain his even expression, there is a momentary hesitation. Gibbs latches onto that as he dips into Crenshaw's mind again. The IA agent presses his hand to his forehead as though it could keep Gibbs out of his head. Gibbs smirks.

"Stop before I shoot you." Crenshaw's voice shakes.

Gibbs is already too far gone. He moves through Crenshaw's mind with lightening speed as he follows that momentary hesitation. He moves past the two teenaged boys and the pretty wife. Wait, that is definitely not his wife. A heavy-set woman flashes beside the boys. _That's_ his wife. So Crenshaw has another woman in his life. By the feel of it, he is having a long-term affair with a woman in DC.

 _Ace in the hole._

When Gibbs backs out, Crenshaw appears exhausted and fearful. Gibbs half-smiles at the thought of how blackmail might keep his team together long enough to solve another case. Sometimes, he reminds himself, you need to get dirty to protect what matters most.

"Think your wife appreciates being cheated on?" Gibbs asks.

Crenshaw's grin returns. And Gibbs realizes that's not _it._

"She already gave me her blessing," Crenshaw says. "She hates me, but she wants to stay together for the boys. As soon as they're in college, we're done. Nice try though."

Balling his hands into fists, Gibbs shifts in his stance. He is ready to take him down. But the waves of relief washing from Crenshaw make Gibbs pause. Suspects—and occasionally Tony—radiate the same feeling when they believe their secrets to be safe once again. And that's when they can't help thinking about their biggest ones. The ones that will ruin them.

Gibbs doesn't even have to reach to see it. Whether he knows it or not, Crenshaw projects it free and clear without any of his walls. In Gibbs' mind, a scene appears of a clear summer's day on the side of a back-country road. A younger version of Crenshaw stands by a dented pick-up truck. He stares at a small car with a smoking hood at the bottom of a ditch. From his position, Gibbs notices the blood splatter on both sides of the windshield of the small car. He has cleared enough crime scenes to know the occupants are dead. Crenshaw wobbles back to his truck. He climbs into the cab before driving away.

When he blinks, Gibbs is back in the elevator.

"You were drunk," he whispers. "You killed those people."

Crenshaw pales considerably. "It was an accident."

"You ran them off the road."

Gibbs balls his hands again, ready to punch Crenshaw. This time, it isn't for his team. But rather, the nameless, faceless accident victims.

Crenshaw readjusts the grip on his gun. "I was just a kid."

"Do you think it matters? Not only did you commit a crime, you covered it up." Gibbs shakes his head. "You know there isn't a stature of limitation for murder."

"You'll never prove it. You don't know their names and – " his free hand grazes his temple " – neither do I. I don't even know where I was. You can't prove anything."

"My team will have enough to put you away by breakfast." As he says it Gibbs knows _that_ is a bluff. It'll probably take more like twenty-four hours to uncover the victim's identities and a few days to exhume the bodies. Even if Crenshaw took him and Tony into custody, the rest of the team would be more than capable of closing the case together.

At first, the gun in Crenshaw's hand vibrates. Then, it starts to shake.

"Do you think you'd last long in prison?" Gibbs asks. "I hear they don't like federal agents."

Crenshaw swallows, pronounced Adam's apple bobbing. He switches the gun to his other hand, so he can wipe his palm on his pants. Gibbs fights the urge to roll his eyes.

 _Amateur._

Then, Crenshaw's thin veneer finally cracks. "I'm sure we can come to an agreement, Agent Gibbs. Perhaps I could leave out our conversation when I speak to the director. No one would ever have to know _you_ are a mutant."

"Leave," Gibbs barks.

"Excuse me?" Crenshaw asks.

Before Crenshaw can react, Gibbs hauls him up by his lapels and slams him into the elevator wall. The gun tumbles to the ground with a metallic _plink._ They are close enough for Gibbs to smell the mint on Crenshaw's breath, his musky aftershave. He keeps his hands stiffly by his sides as though he is afraid he'll be turned into a mutant just by touching Gibbs.

Gibbs gets right in Crenshaw's face, growling: "You get out and leave my team the hell alone."

"And no one finds out about the accident?" Crenshaw rasps.

Gibbs' upper lip curls with disgust, baring his teeth. As much as he would love to take Crenshaw down for a decades old cold case, it is the only leverage he has. To bury the case that could destroy his team, he must bury another. It is a deal with the devil, signed in the blood of people who didn't deserve it.

Crenshaw squirms in Gibbs' hold. "The accident? You'll keep it a secret?"

Gibbs drops Crenshaw. "Only if I never see you again."


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer : If you recognize it, I still don't own it. All characters remain intellectual property of CBS and their creators**

 **Author's Note :** _Thank you to everyone who read, favorited and followed. And extra thanks to everyone who left a review. I'm glad to hear you enjoyed it. As far as starting a series, I'm still not sure whether I will. There is definitely a ton of material to pull from in this universe and I hope to come back to it someday.  
_

 _Enjoy the last chapter._

 _ _-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-__

Still at the interrogation table, Tony absently makes a pen levitate. He rolls his fingers and it stands as though it's about to write a confession. A flick of the wrist and the pen whirls around like it's dancing. When he lays his hand on the table, the pen falls over, unmoving.

Tony smiles ruefully.

He doesn't know quite how it happened. His power is now second nature. No longer a burden, but useful, controllable. Of course, it's just in time to be whisked away to prison for being himself. He never used it to apprehend a suspect, make an important break in a case, or impress his way to a date. He only used it in one heroic moment to save his partner.

 _Might as well go out with a bang._

He turns back to the pen. It's a mindless distraction, really, but he gladly welcomes it. This time, he makes it whisk around the room like an errant fly. He has no idea whether Crenshaw turned on the video camera, but does it really matter now? He has no reason to hide anymore. Since Crenshaw knows, it will just be a matter of time before military police and Mutant Tactical Unit arrive. How many people will it take to move one _very_ special agent to the secret facility in the Midwest? Tony heard it was near Omaha once, which is a shame because he never liked America's heartland. Too quiet. Too flat. Too friendly. And not enough designed suit stores and single-malt Scotch. Not like he'll get those in prison.

Tony could run. And hell, he could walk straight out of the building and disappear. The door to interrogation is almost never locked. But it just doesn't _feel_ right. How could he live with himself if he ran with his tail between his legs and left his team to deal with the fallout?

 _Gibbs taught me better than that._

He could fight. Probably. Maybe. He could play straight into the mutant stereotype that they are wild, primal, _sub-human._ When he catches his reflection in the mirror, his grimace deepens. Even with his untrained powers, he probably could fight. But what would that make _him?_

The more Tony's mind churns, the more the pen picks up speed. It whizzes past his ear with an audible _buzz_ now. He tries to grab it, but it sails past with a mind of its own. He focuses on stopping it, but the pen just grazes the top of his head. He presses the heels of his hands against his eyes. The pen smacks into a wall with a _thwap._

 _I still can't control anything._

The pen flits past Tony's head again.

 _So I guess it's mutant prison for me. Good thing I watched_ Escape from Alcatraz _last weekend. I always wanted to be Clint Eastwood. But for some reason I pictured myself as Dirty Harry, not Frank Morris._

Resting his forehead on the table, Tony stays there for a long time. He runs through the plots of _Escape from Alcatraz, The Great Escape,_ and any other prison escape movies he can come up with. The only sound the occasional _whack_ of the pen bouncing off the walls. He concentrates on stopping the pen. It doesn't work, so he gives up.

Tony is trying to emulate Paul Newman in _Cool Hand Luke_ when footsteps echo in the hallway. They're quiet at first, but rapidly approaching the interrogation room. Probably someone terrified to move a vicious mutant to a holding cell. He _almost_ wants to bare his teeth.

In the end, Tony doesn't move. He wants to savor the last moment of freedom.

The door opens. A moment later, "Ouch! Why did you throw a pen at me, Tony?!"

"McGee?" Tony asks.

When he snaps his head up, Tim is in the doorway. He absently rubs at a welt on his cheek, but he is grinning ear-to-ear. On the floor, the pen lays still. _Finally._ Tony thinks about how nice it is not to have it flying around the room. The pen trembles, jiggles, rolls underneath the table.

Tim talks a mile a minute. "….leaving. I can't believe no one told you."

Tony glances around interrogation. "Consider me out of the loop."

"I – uh, oh yeah. That makes sense. Uh – " When Tony motions for him to get on with it, Tim flushes. "Crenshaw is leaving."

"Just like that?"

Tim presses his lips together. "Kate said Gibbs talked to him. He should be gone any minute."

"What did Gibbs say?"

"I have no idea," he replies, shrugging.

Tony scrambles to his feet. At the same time, the pen floats up from under the table. The writing end is pointed at Tony like a dagger. Tim's eyes nearly pop out of his head. He slams the door behind him.

"Tony, you shouldn't be doing that," he hisses.

"I'm not trying to," Tony says honestly.

Tim glances over his shoulder. "You need to stop before someone sees."

"I know!"

Pushing his tongue between his teeth, Tony puts two fingers against his temple. It always works in the movies—the ones with psychics using mental abilities—so why wouldn't it work now? But the pen hangs suspended in mid-air. Tim reaches after it, but it evades his grasp. He goes for it again, but it just whips around in a little circle as though it's mocking him.

When it flies over his head, Tim grouses, "Come on."

"It shouldn't be moving anymore," Tony said.

Stopping, Tim looks back at Tony. "Well, it _is_. What are you thinking about?"

"The pen." Tony stares at him as though to say, _duh_.

"Just stop," Tim suggests. "That should do it."

Closing his eyes, Tony tries to clear his mind. He thinks about movies, work, Gibbs, anything but that G-damned pen. When Tony opens his eyes, Tim holds the now immobile pen in his left hand. Tim smiles tightly, but Tony barely matches it. His head is starting to ache again like an ice pick is boring through his temporal lobe. He massages his temples as though it could help.

Tim slips the pen into his jacket pocket. "So it can't escape."

"How'd you know that would work?" Tony asks.

"Abby and I looked up some information about telekinetics." His explanation makes Tony cringe. "We thought it might help. We just wanted to help. We thought…we thought you might need it."

Tony scrubs his hands across his face. "Who knows that I'm a mutant?"

Tim looks away, sheepish. "Everyone."

Tony inhales deeply. Makes a face. Shifts his weight. He groans so loud that they probably hear it in the bullpen. Hell, they probably hear it on the other side of the Anacostia.

"Well, isn't that just great. How'd they figure it out?"

Tim still doesn't look at Tony. "I didn't tell them, I swear. Abby came up with the theory while she was going through the crime scene photos. She tried to disprove it because she couldn't believe you were a mutant. But in the end, it only proved her theory."

Tony smiles morosely. "I guess I should know by now there's no keeping secrets from her."

Tim offers a sympathetic nod. "Why don't we get back to the bullpen?"

At the sound of his boss' name, Tony cringes. After everything—the civilian deaths, Crenshaw, his unchecked abilities—how is Tony supposed to face Gibbs? What is he supposed to say? How is Tony supposed to _fix_ everything? Sure, Gibbs had fair warning. Tony told him about his abilities when they met in Baltimore. But there was that little promise Tony made when Gibbs vouched for him at NCIS. That he would never use them, that he'd never be a problem.

Tim clears his throat. "Gibbs should be looking for us by now."

"Yeah," Tony says, plastering on a grin.

On the way back to the bullpen, they walk in silence. Tim chucks the pen in a wastebasket. He tries to be sneaky so Tony doesn't notice, but Tim is anything but. As soon as it's gone, Tony thinks about the pen for a split second. The pen rattles around the wastebasket. When he looks back, the wastebasket is on its side with trash everywhere. The pen rolls after them.

 _Stop thinking about it. Stop thinking about it. Stop –_

"Tony!" Tim says.

He snaps out of it. "Yeah?"

It must be enough to clear his mind because the pen stops. Tim and Tony stare at it for a long moment as though it should reanimate. When it doesn't, Tony sighs with relief.

"I thought that was going to end up like a scene out of _Rubber,"_ Tony says.

Tim holds a hand up. "I don't want to know."

"Not that kind of rubber." Tony smacks Tim's shoulder. Then, he laughs heartily. "Though I'm surprised you know what those are, McMustBeGettingLucky."

Even though Tim rolls his eyes, he smiles at their normal routine.

Grinning, Tony continues: " _Rubber_ is a French indie movie about a tire that rolls around blowing stuff up. Cans. Beer bottles. Spiders. Rabbits too, I think. Definitely a few people."

Tim quirks an eyebrow. "That sounds horrible."

"Yeah, it really was. That's the last time I branch out form my safe zone." Tony laughs again. "Anyway, I thought the pen was going to do that to us."

Tim gives Tony the wall-eye. Tony just grins again. They still check on the pen one more time. Once they confirm it isn't moving, they head to the bullpen. Gibbs and Kate are at their desks, staring at their computer screens. But in reality, Tony notices Gibbs watching Elias Crenshaw snap his briefcase closed. Tony and Tim hang back as though Crenshaw might change his mind about pressing charges.

Crenshaw slings his coat over his forearm. On his way to the elevator, he pauses by Tony and Tim. Up close, he appears even thinner than he did in interrogation. A walking corpse, dead and unburied.

His creepy eyes hold Tony's gaze. "Don't think I'm done with you, Agent DiNozzo." He glances at Tim. "Or you either, Agent McGee."

Tony jerks his chin defiantly. "We have no idea what you're talking about, Agent Crenshaw."

Crenshaw's face turns unreadable. For a moment, Tony expects him to cackle like the Wicked Witch of the West and yell, _I'll get you and your little geek too._

But Crenshaw doesn't. Instead, he takes a half-step back. He brings his hand to his forehead, massaging as though he has the headache of his life coming on. Tony might commiserate with the man, if he weren't such a miserable bastard. Without so much as another word, Crenshaw darts for the elevator.

"What – " Tim tilts his head " – what just happened?"

"We probably don't want to know," Tony says, shrugging.

"Right."

Even though Tony moves towards his desk, Tim sticks to him like glue. A half-second later, Kate joins them. Sinking into his desk chair is a relief. He doesn't get to enjoy it because he feels someone staring at him. When he looks up, Kate and Tim's expressions are a mix of relief and concern.

 _Just when I thought everything was going to be back to normal._

"It looks like we finally know your MOAS, Tony." Kate's tone is light and playful. "I guess Abby can finally stop pestering you about it."

Tony winks lasciviously. "Mine isn't nearly as good as yours, Kate."

"For the love of G-d, Tony. You are _such_ a pig. Can you stop bringing up that wet t-shirt contest? It was like a million years ago."

"Not that one. I know about the other thing." When Kate's eyebrows jump, he knows the bluff paid off. "Yeah, I know about _that_ thing."

Tim's eyes jump between them as though he does and doesn't want to know all at the same time.

Kate lets out a little squeak, her face turning an unnatural shade of crimson. Tony makes a mental note to dig up that dirt when he gets a chance. Kate opens her mouth, likely to lambast him, but suddenly stops. She points at something in the air beside Tony's head.

"Hey, Tony. Are you doing that?" she asks. "It's incredible."

Whirling to the side, Tony finds the pen floating at eye-level. He reaches for it, but Tim beats him to the punch. He plucks it out of the air before hurling it across the room. His shot goes wild because he narrowly misses Gibbs' head. Tim's face flushes the same shade as Kate's.

"Sorry, Boss." Then he cringes. "I didn't mean to do that. It was supposed to go – " he gestures in the complete opposite direction " – over there."

Surprisingly, Gibbs' expression is amused. "Hope you've got better aim with your gun, McGee."

"Me too." Tim bristles. "I mean, I do. I have good aim. Really good aim."

Tony manages to hide his smile behind his hand, but Kate can't suppress the laughter. At that moment, Tony is overcome with a sudden urge to _work._ As if struck by the same bolt of lightening, Tim and Kate become serious too. They head back to their desks and jump straight onto their computers.

Gibbs surveys them for moment. Then, he scoops up his coffee cup and heads out of the bullpen.

 _There goes the boss for yet another refill._

Once he is safely gone, Kate speaks up. "Did either of you feel like we should be working on the case all of a sudden?"

Tim half-shrugs. "I just figured the sooner we finish, the sooner we go home."

Tony props his elbows on his desk. "If you don't feel like working, Kate, we could talk about that MOAS of yours instead."

"Stop being disgusting, DiNozzo," she snaps. "Never mind, can't change who you are."

Her choice of work— _who,_ not _what_ —make Tony grin, but she misconstrues her smile. Kate rolls her eyes dramatically before turning earnest.

"Don't you think it's weird how we always know exactly what Gibbs wants us to do?" she asks.

Tim doesn't bite. "Not really."

"I've worked with him forever," Tony replies. "Right now, he is thinking about how NCIS coffee is made from water from the Anacostia. Then, he'll go to that diner around the corner for his usual."

Kate scrunches her eyebrows. "It's just…sometimes, I wonder whether Gibbs might be – " she drops her voice " – you know, psychic."

That gets Tim's attention. "You think Gibbs is a telepath, Kate?"

"Well, maybe. I don't know." She makes a face. "It sounds crazy when you say it like that, McGee."

"That's because it _is."_

Then, Tim and Kate glance at Tony as though it can't really be _that_ crazy.

Tony decides to lay the insane theory to rest. "Gibbs is just like us. Well, you two. He just trained us to think like him, so he doesn't have to tell us what to do. That settles it."

Nodding, Kate turns back to her computer. When Tim resumes his frenetic typing, Tony knows he is lost in his work. But as he glances at his monitor, the hair on the back of Tony's neck rise. It's the same feeling he gets right before Gibbs head-slaps him. He checks over his shoulder, but there's no one there. He tries to shake the feeling.

 _Still think it's crazy I'm telepathic, DiNozzo?_ Tony hears Gibbs' voice in his head, clear as day.

Whirling around, Tony expects to find Gibbs there. The space is still empty. He peeks over the side of the cubicle wall, just in case. Not that Gibbs would ever, _ever_ hide like a little kid.

Gibbs keeps talking. _You should know, you aren't alone. With proper training, you'll be able to harness your abilities and use them in the field. It just isn't condoned, Tony._

Sinking back into his chair, Tony ignores Tim and Kate's confused glances. He rubs his hands through his chair. He laughs, a little hysterical. For all the times Tony thought Gibbs was in his head, Gibbs actually _was_ in his head. And who knew, the functional mute Leroy Jethro Gibbs could be a regular chatty Cathy.

Gibbs is still going. _Even though I didn't say it, you did good yesterday._

Tony starts: "But, Boss – "

 _You did exactly what you should have, abilities or not. You protected your teammate. I know I don't tell you enough, but I'm proud of you._

Tony clips a nod. "Thanks, Boss."


End file.
